SB    25D 


UNIVERSITY   OF   CALIFORNIA 


DEPARTMENT  OF  EDUCATION 


GIFT  OF  THE   PUBLISHER 


No.       3S~,  Received    / 


LIBRARY 

OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA. 

OF 

Class 


• 


STANDARD   LITERATURE  SERIES 

GOLDSMITH,  GRAY,  BURNS 

AND  OTHER 

ROMANTIC    POETS    OF   THE    EIGHTEENTH    CENTURY 


COMPLETE  CHARACTERISTIC  SELECTIONS 


EDITED    WITH    BIOGRAPHIES,    NOTES    AND    HINTS    FOR 
TEACHING 


UNIVERSITY   PUBLISHING   COMPANY 
NEW  YORK          •  :  -  BOSTON  . : .  NEW  ORLEANS 


COPYRIGHT,  1901,  BY 
UNIVERSITY  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 


***  2404 


CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

INTRODUCTION. 

CHARACTERISTICS  OF  THE  PERIOD v 

HINTS  TO  TEACHERS vii 

AUTHORS  AND  SELECTIONS. 

OLIVER  GOLDSMITH — BIOGRAPHY            1 

THE  DESERTED  VILLAGE          >  4 

• 

SUGGESTIONS  FOR  QUESTIONS    .....  18 

SUGGESTIONS  FOR  COMPOSITIONS        ....  19 

SUGGESTIONS  FOR  MEMORY  WORK    ....  19 

THE  TRAVELER 20 

SUGGESTIONS  FOR  QUESTIONS 35 

SUGGESTIONS  FOR  COMPOSITIONS        ....  37 

ELEGY  ON  MRS.  MARY  BLAIZE 37 

ELEGY  ON  THE  DEATH  OF  A  MAD  DOG  ....  38 

EPITAPH  ON  EDMUND  BURKE 39 

THOMAS  GRAY — BIOGRAPHY 41 

ELEGY  WRITTEN  IN  A  COUNTRY  CHURCHYARD         .        .  42 

QUESTIONS  ON  THE  ELEGY 47 

SUGGESTIONS  FOR  COMPOSITION  WORK      ...  48 

SUGGESTIONS  FOR  MEMORY  WORK    ....  48 

ON  A  DISTANT  PROSPECT  OF  ETON  COLLEGE  ...  48 

WILLIAM  COLLINS — BIOGRAPHY 51 

THE  PASSIONS 52 

How  SLEEP  THE  BRAVE 55 

228072 


CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

ROBERT  BURNS — BIOGRAPHY  ......  57 

THE  COTTER'S  SATURDAY  NIGHT 59 

SUGGESTIONS  FOR  QUESTIONS 67 

SUGGESTIONS  FOR  COMPOSITIONS  ....  67 

BANNOCKBURN 68 

AFTON  WATER 68 

AULD  LANG  SYNE 69 

0  WERT  THOU  IN  THE  CAULD  BLAST  ....  70 

JAMES  THOMSON— BIOGRAPHY 73 

WINTER 74 

HYMN  TO  GOD'S  POWER 75 

WILLIAM  COWPER— BIOGRAPHY       ......  77 

RURAL  SOUNDS  78 

• 

LIGHT  SHINING  OUT  OF  DARKNESS          ....  79 

THE  DIVERTING  RIDE  OF  JOHN  GILPIN  .  80 


INTRODUCTION. 


CHARACTERISTICS  OF  THE  PERIOD. 

THE  literature  of  any  period  consists  of  the  books  written 
during  that  period.  These  books  are  apt  to  be  about  the  sub- 
jects that  the  people  of  the  period  are  interested  in,  and  they 
are  apt  to  be  written  in  the  style  that  suits  the  period.  So, 
though  in  any  period  there  may  be  one  or  more  men  of  genius 
who  set  a  fashion  of  their  own,  we  are  generally  able  to  find 
some  qualities  that  belong  to  the  literature  of  the  period  taken 
as  a  whole. 

(_When  you  read  the  following  poems,  most  of  them  will 
probably  strike  you  as  "old-fashioned."  Poems,  nowadays 
are  not  generally  written  in  lines  all  exactly  ten  syllables  long, 
as  are  the  "  Traveler  "  and  "  Deserted  Village."  We  do  not 
speak  of  young  girls  as  nymphs,  or  of  young  men  as  swains. 
We  write  poetry  now  without  mentioning  that  we  have  "kin- 
dled incense  at  the  Muse's  flame."  But  these  same  poems 
seemed  to  the  people  who  read  them  little  over  a  hundred 
years  ago  as  a  wonderfully  new  departure — as  the  "  new-fash- 
ioned "  poetry.  Let  us  see  what  it  is  that  was  new  in  them, 
and  what  they  retained  of  the  old. 

The  poetry  that  preceded  these  poems  is  called  classic.  It 
was  written  by  scholarly  men  who  took  great  pains  to  follow 
certain  Latin  and  Greek  models,  and  who  cared  much  about 
the  manner  in  which  they  expressed  themselves.  In  the  eigh- 
teenth century  the  chief  poet  of  the  classic  period  is  Pope, 
whom  you  will  read  in  another  volume  of  this  series.  Lowell, 
an  American  poet,  calls  Pope's  ten-syllabled  line  the  "  rocking- 


VI  INTRODUCTION. 

horse  "  measure.  These  classic  authors  often  packed  a  great 
deal  of  good  sense  and  philosophy  into  one  of  their  couplets, 
but  not  so  much  feeling.  Their  poetry  sounds  as  if  they  had 
written  out  essays  and  turned  them  into  couplets,  and  indeed 
that  is  what  even  Goldsmith  did. 

Many  of  the  poets  who  followed  Pope  were  very  much  influ- 
enced by  the  forms  of  the  classic  school,  but  they  put  a  new 
spirit  into  their  poetry — the  modern  spirit — the  same  spirit  that 
fills  the  poetry  of  our  own  day.  Because  these  authors  were 
enthusiastic,  full  of  interest  in  nature  and  in  love,  full  of 
admiration  for  all  that  is  beautiful  or  wonderful,  they  are 
called  romantic  poets.  Because  they  are  linked  with  the  past 
in  form  and  with  the  present  in  spirit,  their  period  is  sometimes 
called  the  transition  period  of  English  poetry.  But,  as  might 
have  been  expected,  the  new  thoughts  demanded  new  forms, 
and  so  you  will  find  the  "  rocking-horse  "  measure  abandoned 
by  several  poets  for  various  metres,  some  of  them  even  suitable 
to  be  set  to  music. 

This  new  spirit  of  the  romantic  poets  arose  partly  from  the 
events  of  the  times : 

1.  A  spirit  of  democracy   arose.     There   was   much   talk 
about  the  "  rights  of  man  "  and  the  "  common  brotherhood  " 
of  man.     You  will  find  these  sentiments  best  expressed  in  our 
own  Declaration  of  Independence,  written  during  this  very 
period. 

2.  One  of  the  greatest  religious  revivals  the  world  has  ever 
seen  occurred  in  this  period,  in  the  birth  of  Methodism,  and 
even  those  authors  who  took  no  part  in  the  revival  were  some- 
what influenced  by  it. 

3.  A  great  interest  in  the  old  songs  and  ballads  of   the 
people  was  awakened,  and  the  writing  of  love  songs  became 
popular. 

4.  A  strong  love  of  nature  developed  during  this  period — a 
fondness  for  country  life,  and  a  desire  to  describe  the  beauties 
of  wood  and  vale,  of  mountain  and  river.     The  classic  poets 


INTRODUCTION.  Vll 

had  put  in  natural  scenes  as  backgrounds  for  human  figures; 
the  romantic  poets  filled  reams  of  paper  with  the  scene,  often 
adding  the  human  figure  only  as  a  feature  of  the  scene. 

5.  As  an  outgrowth  of  this  interest  in  nature  and  of  the 
broader  sympathy  with  man  which  distinguished  the  period, 
arose  a  tenderness  towards  animals  and  plants,  and  so  we  find 
Burns  writing  to  a  daisy: 

Wee,  modest,  crimson-tipped  flower, 
Thou's  met  me  in  an  evil  hour  ; 
For  I  maun  crush  among  the  stour 

Thy  slender  stem  : 
To  spare  thee  now  is  past  my  power, 

Thou  bonnie  gem. 

And  Cowper  declares: 

I  would  not  enter  on  my  list  of  friends 

(Though  graced  with  polished  manners  and  fine  sense, 

Yet  wanting  sensibility)  the  man 

Who  needlessly  sets  foot  upon  a  worm. 

You  will  find  it  interesting  to  look  through  the  poems  in 
this  collection  for  evidences  of  these  features  of  the  new  face 
that  the  literature  of  the  romantic  period  showed  the  world. 


TEACHERS. 


No  specific  method  can  be  given  for  the  teaching  of  any 
literary  selection  in  any  special  grade  of  school.  You  must 
consult  the  requirements  of  your  course  of  study,  and  must 
fit  the  work  to  the  needs  and  capacities  of  your  pupils.  The 
teaching  exercises  given  after  the  longer  selections  in  this  vol- 
ume are,  as  their  name  implies,  merely  "suggestions"  of 
one  way  in  which  the  difficult  task  of  familiarizing  young 
students  with  good  adult  literature  without  disgusting  them 
may  be  attempted. 

I.  The  notes  are  intended  as  aids  in  simplifying  the  poems. 


Vlll  INTRODUCTION. 

They  need  not  be  memorized,  but  should  be  freely  used  in 
class.  In  assigning  a  portion  of  the  poem  to  be  read  for  the 
first  time,  have  any  additional  unfamiliar  words  looked  up  by 
the  pupils.  If  there  are  so  many  of  these  as  to  make  this  first 
reading  drag,  give  more  notes  yourself.  You  are  a  better 
judge  of  the  amount  of  help  needed  than  any  editor  can  be. 
The  main  value  of  having  pupils  make  notes  for  themselves 
is  not  that  they  should  find  meanings  for  words — they  have 
been  able  to  do  that  for  years — but  that  they  should  learn  to 
find  the  right  meaning  for  each  word  as  here  used — a  valuable 
exercise  of  judgment,  leading  to  an  intelligent  understanding 
of  one  element  of  style. 

II.  Make  the  second  reading  of  each  poem  more  rapid  than 
the  first,  and  let  it  be  for  the  purpose  of  answering  the  ques- 
tions given  and  others  which  may  suggest  themselves.      Some 
of  these  questions  maybe  given  for  thought  in  preparation  for 
the  reading;  others  may  well  be  discussed  impromptu  during 
the  reading. 

III.  The  third  reading  may  be  done  out  of  class  or  silently 
in  class.     It  is  for  the  purpose  of  enabling  the  pupil  to  write 
the  suggested  daily  theme.     These  themes  should  be  short, 
and  originality  of  treatment  should  be  encouraged.     But  their 
main  purpose  is  the  training  of  the  pupil  to  the  use  of  language 
suitable  to  his  subject.     A  village  churchyard  does  not  require 
the  same  descriptive  adjective  as  the  Swiss  Alps.     If  one  is 
"  grand, "  the  other  is  not. 

IV.  The  introduction  which  precedes  these  hints  is  intended 
for  the  teacher's  reading  before  the  selections  are  studied,  and 
for  the  pupil's  reading  after  they  are  studied.     A  comparison 
of  selections  and  authors  for  the  sake  of  verifying  or  refuting 
the  statements  made  in  the  introduction  will  unify  the  stu- 
dents' knowledge  of  the  period. 

V.  The  biography  of  each  author  should  be  read  after  his 
work  has  been  studied.     The  work  adds  more  interest  to  the 
life  than  the  life  gives  to  the  work. 


INTRODUCTION.  IX 

VI.  The  pupil  ought  to  leave  each  selection  with  a  pleasant 
taste  in  his  mouth.     Stop — or  improve — any  exercise,  based 
on  good  literature,  that  "  bores  "  your  pupils. 

VII.  While  your  pupils  may  be  wearied  by  too  much  atten- 
tion to  detail,  you  will  find  that  the  closer  your  familiarity 
with  each  author's  work,  the  keener  your  appreciation  of  its 
virtues. 


G-OLDSMITH,  GRAY,  BURNS, 

AND  OTHER  ROMANTIC  POETS  OP  THE 
EIGHTEENTH  CENTURY. 


OLIVER   GOLDSMITH. 

GOLDSMITH  was  born  at  Pallas,  in  the  central  part  of  Ireland, 
on  November  10,  1728.  His  father  was  a  clergyman  and  his 
elder  brother  became  a  clergyman,  so  though  neither  of  them  was 
very  well-to-do  in  the  world,  it  was  natural  that  Goldsmith  should 
have  been  destined  for  one  of  the  ' '  learned  "  professions,  and  re- 
ceived a  good  education.  The  only  real  drawback  to  his  educa- 
tion was  his  own  careless  character.  He  was  clever  enough  at 
studying,  although  not  in  talking  ;  but  he  could  not  manage  to 
go  easily  through  the  regular  coarse  of  things  that  ordinary  men 
find  not  so  very  difficult.  At  Trinity  College,  Dublin,  the  educa- 
tional center  of  Ireland,  he  quarreled  with  his  tutor,  neglected 
the  studies  he  did  not  like,  got  mixed  up  in  riotous  disturbances, 
left  the  university  for  a  time  on  account  of  some  disgrace,  and 
finally  managed  to  take  a  degree. 

At  the  age  of  twenty-one  his  prospects  could  not  have  been  bril- 
liant in  the  eyes  of  his  friends.  He  himself,  on  the  other  hand, 
was  most  cheerful  and  light-hearted,  a  charming  companion,  and 
full  of  agreeable  affection.  He  agreed  easily  to  the  plan  that  he 
should  go  into  the  Church  ;  but  unfortunately,  when  he  applied 
to  the  Bishop  for  ordination,  he  was  rejected.  He  consoled  him- 
self with  thoughts  of  tutoring,  but  as  soon  as  he  had  saved  a  little 
money  he  was  carried  away  by  the  idea  of  going  to  America.  Of 
course  he  did  not  get  very  far,  and  in  a  few  weeks  reappeared  at 
home.  A  kind  uncle  proposed  the  profession  of  the  law  and  pro- 
vided funds.  Goldsmith  started  cheerfully  for  London,  but  lost 
all  his  money  by  gambling  on  the  way,  and  was  shortly  at  home 


2  OLIVER    GOLDSMITH. 

again.  His  family  must'  h'a've  been  in  despair.  His  uncle  sug- 
gested medicine,  and  Goldsmith,  of  course,  agreed.  Here  he  actu- 
ally made  a  beginning  in  life.  He  left  home  finally  and  forever. 
He  studied  medicine  and  somehow  acquired  that  title  by  which 
he  was  afterward  commonly  known — that  of  "Doctor." 

It  is  not  recorded  that  he  pursued  the  studies  of  his  profession 
with  very  great  diligence.  He  went  to  Edinburgh,  where  he  re- 
mained for  two  years.  Then  he  started  out  for  Leyden,  in  Hol- 
land, where  there  had  long  been  a  famous  university.  How  much 
he  did  at  Leyden  is  unknown;  it  is  certain,  however,  that  he  used 
up  his  money,  for  in  no  very  long  time  we  find  him  wandering 
through  France  on  foot.  He  managed  in  this  way  to  see  the 
greater  part  of  France  and  Italy,  and  finally  found  himself  once 
more  in  England. 

As  a  matter  of  course  he  made  for  London.  It  was  to  London 
that  all  who  had  no  definite  career  turned  their  steps  to  seek  their 
fortunes,  as  the  old  saying  is.  Goldsmith  does  not  seem  to  have 
had  the  profession  of  an  author  especially  in  mind  ;  he  tried  his 
hand  with  a  company  of  strolling  players  as  he  tramped  along  the 
road  ;  he  took  the  position  of  usher  or  under-teacher  at  a  boys' 
school  ;  he  corrected  proof  sheets  ;  he  even  endeavored  to  make  a 
beginning  at  his  real  profession  of  medicine.  But  none  of  these 
ventures  was  successful  or  permanent. 

Not  till  after  about  twelve  months  of  experiment  did  his  true 
powers  find  a  chance.  He  attracted  the  attention  of  the  publish- 
ers of  one  of  the  London  magazines,  and  was  engaged  to  supply 
articles  to  the  Monthly  Review.  He  was  to  write  anything  the 
editor  needed  to  fill  up  with. 

Although  this  particular  engagement  did  not  last  very  long,  and 
although  Goldsmith  tried  teaching  and  medicine  again,  yet  this 
was  his  real  beginning  at  his  life-work.  Certainly  the  writing 
anything  that  might  be  called  for  was  not  a  very  dignified  form 
of  the  author's  profession,  but  at  least  it  kept  him  alive,  and  it 
also  led  to  something  else.  From  this  time  (1757)  to  his  death, 
Goldsmith  lived  chiefly  in  London  and  made  his  living  by  his 
pen.  He  never  settled  anywhere  else,  and,  in  spite  of  trying  his 
hand  at  medicine  every  now  and  then,  he  never  really  did  any- 
thing else  but  write. 

In  the  next  twenty  years  he  wrote  a  great  deal  that  was  de- 


OLIVER    GOLDSMITH.  3 

manded  of  him  by  publishers  and  booksellers,  and  much  of  it  had 
no  very  great  merit.  But  beside  these  things  that  he  wrote  for 
money,  he  also  found  leisure  to  express  his  truer  thoughts  and 
feelings,  and  thus  wrote  some  of  the  best  things  in  the  literature 
of  the  time.  His  essays  attracted  notice  ;  his  poems,  "  The  Trav- 
eler" and  "The  Deserted  Village,"  were  the  best  that  had  ap- 
peared sinca  Pope;  his  play,  "She  Stoops  to  Conquer,"  was 
successful  in  its  day  and  has  kept  the  stage  since,  and  "  The  Vicar 
of  Wakefield "  is  one  of  the  best  novels  of  the  century.  This 
would  be  a  proud  record  for  any  author  ;  from  it  we  understand 
what  Johnson  meant  when  he  said  of  Goldsmith  that  he  left 
scarcely  any  mode  of  writing  untouched,  and  touched  none  that 
he  did  not  adorn. 

But  a  list  of  his  works  gives  no  real  idea  of  his  life  nor  of  his 
character.  His  life  in  London  for  twenty  years,  although  more 
settled  than  his  varied  experiments  in  search  of  a  profession,  had 
yet  decided  ups  and  downs.  He  never  attained  that  steady  habit 
of  life  which  is  careful  of  the  present  and  provident  for  the  future. 
He  made  a  great  deal  of  money,  but  he  was  generally  in  debt  ;  he 
wrote  exquisite  and  charming  works,  but  he  had  also  to  toil  days 
and  months  upon. pieces  of  book- work  which  could  have  had  but 
little  interest  for  him  ;  he  had  many  of  the  most  distinguished 
men  of  his  time  as  friends,. yet  he  was  constantly  doing  careless 
and  foolish  things,  like  beating  booksellers  and  wearing  clothes 
of  bloom-colored  plush. 

But  there  was  one  characteristic  which  nothing  ever  changed  or 
even  obscured.  This  was  his  genuine  goodness  of  nature  and  his 
sweet  charm  of  manner.  He  was  often  hasty,  but  never  unkind, 
and,  in  spite  of  his  follies,  everybody  had  a  warm  heart  for  him. 
And  his  readers  also  for  one  hundred  and  fifty  years  have  always 
felt  that,  in  spite  of  all  failures,  here  was  a  man  who  truly  ap- 
pealed to  the  heart. 

Goldsmith  died  in  1774,  at  the  comparatively  early  age  of  forty- 
six.  He  was  deeply  in  debt  when  he  died,  but  the  stairway  lead- 
ing to  his  room  was  filled  with  mourners — the  poor  with  whom 
he  had  shared  whatever  fortune  brought  him,  and  who  loved  him 
as  their  benefactor  and  their  friend. 


OLIVER    GOLDSMITH. 


THE     DESERTED    VILLAGE. 

[Goldsmith,  though  of  English  descent,  was  brought  up  in  Ire- 
land, and  saw  there  many  scenes  of  distress  and  poverty  among 
the  peasants.  He  had  a  very  sympathetic  nature,  and  the  leave- 
takings  among  the  emigrants  who  left  their  Irish  homes  to  come 
to  America  must  have  saddened  him.  He  came  very  near  emi- 
grating to  America  himself  once,  but  the  ship  sailed  without  him. 

In  his  later  life  he  used  to  leave  London,  where  he  lived,  and 
make  little  trips  into  the  country,  where  he  saw  the  pleasures  of 
English  village  life. 

In  this  poem  he  described  the  two  kinds  of  villages  as  though 
they  were  one.  Macaulay,  an  English  critic,  says  : 

* '  The  village  in  its  happy  days  is  a  true  English  village.  The 
village  in  its  decay  is  an  Irish  village.  The  felicity  and  the  misery 
which  Goldsmith  has  brought  close  together  belong  to  two  differ- 
ent countries,  and  to  two  different  stages  in  the  progress  of  society. 
He  had  assuredly  never  seen  in  his  native  island  such  a  rural 
paradise,  such  a  seat  of  plenty,  content,  and  tranquillity,  as  his 
Auburn.  He  had  assuredly  never  seen  in  England  all  the  in- 
habitants of  such  a  paradise  turned  out  of  their  homes  in  one  day 
and  forced  to  emigrate  in  a  body  to  America.  The  hamlet  he  had 
probably  seen  in  Kent ;  the  ejection  he  had  probably  seen  in 
Munster  ;  but  by  joining  the  two  he  has  produced  something 
which  never  .was  and  never  will  be  seen  in  any  part  of  the  world." 

When  he  was  a  little  boy,  Goldsmith  went  to  school  to  an  old 
soldier  who  taught  him  to  read  and  write,  and  told  him  many 
wonderful  tales  of  his  travels  and  his  experiences  in  the  army. 
You  will  find  a  picture  of  this  ' '  village  master  "  in  the  poem. 

Goldsmith's  father  was  a  clergyman. 

Thackeray,  an  English  novelist,  describes  the  life  of  the  family 
thus  : 

"  His  father  had  a  crowd  of  poor  dependents  besides  those  hun- 
gry children.  He  kept  an  open  table,  round  which  sat  flatterers, 
and  poor  friends,  who  laughed  at  the  honest  rector's  many  jokes, 
and  ate  the  produce  of  his  seventy  acres  of  farm.  Those  who 
have  seen  an  Irish  house  in  the  present  day  can  fancy  that  one 
of  Lissoy.  The  old  beggar  still  has  his  allotted  corner  by  the 
kitchen  turf  ;  the  maimed  old  soldier  still  gets  his  potatoes  and 
buttermilk;  the  poor  cotter  still  asks  his  honor's  charity,  and 
prays  God  bless  his  Reverence  for  the  sixpence ;  the  ragged  pen- 
sioner still  takes  his  place  by  right  and  sufferance.  There's  still 


THE    DESERTED    VILLAGE.  O 

a  crowd  in  the  kitchen,  and  a  crowd  round  the  parlor-table, 
profusion,  confusion,  kindness,  poverty.  If  an  Irishman  comes 
to  London  to  make  his  fortune,  he  has  a  half-dozen  Irish  depend- 
ents who  take  a  percentage  of  his  earnings."] 

SWEET  AUBURN!  loveliest  village  of  the  plain, 

Where  health  and  plenty  cheered  the  laboring  swain! 

Where  smiling  spring  its  earliest  visit  paid, 

And  parting  summer's  lingering  blooms  delayed : 

Dear  lovely  bowers  of  innocence  and  ease,  5 

Seats 2  of  my  youth,  when  every  sport  could  please, 

How  often  have  I  loitered  o'er  thy  green, 

Where  humble  happiness  endeared  each  scene! 

How  often  have  I  paused  on  every  charm, 

The  sheltered  cot,3  the  cultivated  farm,  10 

The  never-failing  brook,  the  busy  mill, 

The  decent  church  that  topped  the  neighboring  hill, 

The  hawthorn  bush,  with  seats  beneath  the  shade, 

For  talking  age  and  whispering  lovers  made ! 

How  often  have  I  blessed  the  coming  day,  15 

When  toil  remitting  *  lent  its  turn  to  play, 

And  all  the  village  train,  from  labor  free, 

Led  up  their  sports  beneath  the  spreading  tree; 

While  many  a  pastime  circled  in  the  shade, 

The  young  contending  as  the  old  surveyed; 5  20 

And  many  .a  gambol  frolicked  o'er  the  ground, 

And  sleights  of  art  and  feats  of  strength  went  found. 

And  still,  as  each  repeated  pleasure  tired, 

Succeeding  sports  the  mirthful  band  inspired; 

The  dancing  pair  that  simply  sought  renown,  25 

By  holding  out,  to  tire  each  other  down; 

The  swain  mistrustless  of  his  smutted  face,8 

While  secret  laughter  tittered  round  the  place ; 

The  bashful  virgin's  side-long  looks  of  love, 

1  Swain — a  young  man  living  in  the  country.  a  Seats — places  where  I  lived. 

3  Cot— cottage.  *  Toil  making  less  demands  gave  place  to  play. 

6  The  young  people  had  matches  of  skill  or  strength,  while  the  old  people  looked  on. 
6  not  knowing  that  some  one  had  blackened  his  face. 


6  OLIVER    GOLDSMITH. 

The  matron's  glance  that  would  those  looks  reprove.  30 

These  were  thy  charms,  sweet  village!  sports  like  these, 
With  sweet  succession,  taught  even  toil  to  please; 
These  round  thy  bowers  their  cheerful  influence  shed, 
These  were  thy  charms — but  all  these  charms  are  fled. 

Sweet  smiling  village,  loveliest  of  the  lawn!  35 

Thy  sports  are  fled  and  all  thy  charms  withdrawn; 
Amidst  thy  bowers  the  tyrant's  hand  is  seen, 
And  desolation  saddens  all  thy  green: 
One  only  master  grasps  the  whole  domain, 
And  half  a  tillage  stints  thy  smiling  plain;  40 

No  more  thy  glassy  brook  reflects  the  day, 
But,  choked  with  sedges,  works  its  weedy  way; 
Along  thy  glades,  a  solitary  guest, 
The  hollow  sounding  bittern  1  guards  its  nest; 
Amidst  thy  desert  walks  the  lapwing  flies,  45 

And  tires  their  echoes  with  unvaried  cries. 
Sunk  are  thy  bowers  in  shapeless  ruin  all, 
And  the  long  grass  overtops  the  moldering  wall, 
And,  trembling,  shrinking  from  the  spoiler's  hand, 
Far,  far  away,  thy  children  leave  the  land.  50 

111  fares  the  land,  to  hastening  ills  a  prey, 
Where  wealth  accumulates  and  men  decay: 
Princes  and  lords  may  flourish,  or  may  fade; 
A  breath  can  make  them,  as  a  breath  has  made : 
But  a  bold  peasantry,  their  country's  pride,  55 

When  once  destroyed,  can  never  be  supplied. 
A  time  there  was,  ere  England's  griefs  began, 
When  every  rood  of  ground  maintained  its  man; 
For  him  light  labor  spread  her  wholesome  store, 
Just  gave  what  life  required,  but  gave  no  more:  60 

His  best  companions,  innocence  and  health; 
And  his  best  riches,  ignorance  of  wealth.2 

1  The  bittern  is  a  wading  bird  which,  makes  a  lonely-sounding,  booming  noise. 

2  The  best  possession  he  has  is  contentment,  for  he  does  not  know  how  many  things 
there  are  to  wish  for. 


THE    DESERTED    VILLAGE.  7 

But  times  are  altered;  trade's  unfeeling  train 
Usurp  the  land  and  dispossess  the  swain; 
Along  the  lawn,  where  scattered  hamlets  rose,,  65 

Unwieldy  wealth  and  cumbrous  pomp  repose; 
And  every  want  to  opulence  allied,1 
And  every  pang  that  folly  pays  to  prided  _ 
Those  gentle  hours  that  plenty  bade  tcTbloom, 
Those  calm  desires  that  asked  but  little  room,  70 

Those  healthful  sports  that  graced  the  peaceful  scene, 
Lived  in  each  look,  and  brightened  all  the  green; 
These,  far  departing,  seek  a  kinder  shore, 
And  rural  mirth  and  manners  are  no  more. 

Sweet  Auburn!  parent  of  the  blissful  hour,  75 

forlorn  confess  the  tyrant's  power. 


Here,  as  I  take  my  solitary  rounds 

Amidst  thy  tangling  walks  and  ruined  grounds, 

And,  many  a  year  elapsed,  return  to  view 

Where  once  the  cottage  stood,  the  hawthorn  grew,  —  80 

Remembrance  wakes  with  all  her  busy  train, 

Swells  at  my  breast,  and  turns  the  past  to  pain. 

In  all  my  wanderings  round  this  world  of  care, 
In  all  my  griefs  —  and  God  has  given  my  share  — 
I  still  had  hopes  my  latest  hours  to  crown,  85 

Amidst  these  humble  bowers  to  lay  me  down; 
To  husband  out  life's  taper  at  the  close,3 
And  keep  the  flame  from  wasting,  by  repose: 
I  still  had  hopes,  for  pride  attends  us  still, 
Amidst  the  swains  to  show  my  book-learned  skill,  90 

Around  my  fire  an  evening  group  to  draw, 
And  tell  of  all  I  felt,  and  all  I  saw; 
And,  as  a  hare  whom  hounds  and  horns  pursue 
Pants  to  the  place  from  whence  at  first  she  flew, 

1  every  desire  that  generally  accompanies  great  riches. 
3  Foolish  people  take  great  trouble  and  suffer  much  because  they  are  proud. 
3  Life  is  like  the  light  of  a  taper.    Goldsmith  wishes  to  use  his  strength  economically, 
not  waste  it  in  work  or  excitement,  toward  the  end  of  life,  so  that  it  may  last  longer. 
2 


8  OLIVER    GOLDSMITH. 

I  still  had  hopes,  my  long  vexations  past,  95 

Here  to  return — and  die  at  home  at  last. 

0  blest  retirement,  friend  to  life's  decline, 
Retreats  from  care  that  never  must  be  mine, 
How  happy  he  who  crowns  in  shades  like  these 

A  youth  of  labor  with  an  age  of  ease;  100 

Who  quits  a  world  where  strong  temptations  try, 

And,  since  'tis  hard  to  combat,  learns  to  fly! 

For  him  no  wretches,  born  to  work  and  weep, 

Explore  the  mine,  or  tempt  the  dangerous  deep;  * 

ISTo  surly  porter  stands  in  guilty  state,  105 

To  spurn  imploring  famine  from  the  gate; 

But  on  he  moves  to  meet  his  latter  end, 

Angels  around  befriending  Virtue's  friend; 

Bends  to  the  grave  with  unperceived  decay, 

While  resignation  gently  slopes  the  way;  110 

And,  all  his  prospects  brightening  to  the  last, 

His  heaven  commences  ere  the  world  be  past! 

Sweet  was  the  sound,  when  oft  at  evening's  close 
flip  yonder  hill  the  village  murmur  rose; 
There,  as  I  passed  with  careless  steps  and  slow,  115 

The  mingling  notes  came  softened  from  below; 
The  swain  responsive  as  the  milkmaid  sung, 
^ The  sober  herd  that  lowed  to  meet  their  young, 
r  The  noisy  geese  that  gabbled  o'er  the  pool, 
The  playful  children  just  let  loose  from  school,  120 

The  watch-dog's  voice  that  bayed  the  whispering  wind, 
And  the  loud  laugh  that  spoke  the  vacant  mind; — 
These  all  in  sweet  confusion  sought  the  shade, 
And  filled  each  pause  the  nightingale  had  made. 
But  now  the  sounds  of  population  fail,  125 

No  cheerful  murmurs  fluctuate 2  in  the  gale, 

1  Goldsmith  thinks  that  toilers  in  mines  and  the  sailors  on  the  sea  are  at  work  to  make 
money  for  rich  people. 

2  rise  and  fall. 


THE    DESERTED    VILLAGE. 

No  busy  steps  the  grass-grown  foot-way  tread, 

For  all  the  bloomy  flush  of  life  is  fled. 

All  but  yon  widowed,  solitary  thing, 

That  feebly  bends  beside  the  plashy  spring:  130 

She,  wretched  matron,  forced  in  age,  for  bread, 

To  strip  the  brook  with  mantling  cresses  spread,1 

To  pick  her  wintry  faggot  from  the  thorn,2 

To  seek  her  nightly  shed,  and  weep  till  morn; 

She  only  left  of  all  the  harmless  train,  135 

The  sad  historian  of  the  pensive  plain. 

Near  yonder  copse,  where  once  the  garden  smiled, 
And  still  where  many  a  garden  flower  grows  wild; 
There,  where  a  few  torn  shrubs  the  place  disclose, 
The  village  preacher's  modest  mansion  rose.  140 

A  man  he  was  to  all  the  country  dear, 
And  passing  rich  with  forty  pounds  a  year  ; 
Eernote  from  towns  he  ran  his  godly  race, 
Nor  e'er  had  changed,  nor  wished  to  change  his  place; 
TJnpracticed  *  he  to  fawn,  or  seek  for  power,  145 

By  doctrines  fashioned  to  the  varying  hour; 
Far  other  aims  his  heart  had  learned  to  prize, 
t/>  ro.ipft  till  ft  wrenched  than  to  risef 


His  house  was  known  to  all  the  vagrant  train; 

He  chid  their  wanderings  but  relieved  their  pain:  150 

The  long  remembered  beggar  was  his  guest, 

Whose  beard  descending  swept  his  aged  breast; 

The  ruined  spendthrift,  now  no  longer  proud, 

Claimed  kindred  there,  and  had  his  claims  allowed;4 

The  broken  soldier,  kindly  bade  to  stay,  155 

Sat  by  his  fire,  and  talked  the  night  away, 

Wept  o'er  his  wounds  or  tales  of  sorrow  done, 

Shouldered  his  crutch  and  showed  how  fields  were  won. 

Pleased  with  his  guests,  the  good  man  learned  to  glow, 

1  strip  the  cresses  which  grow  like  a  green  mantle  on  the  water,  in  order  to  sell 
them.  2  the  hedges  of  thorny  bushes. 

3  He  was  not  in  the  habit  of  fawning.         4  had  his  claims  acknowledged  as  just. 


10  OLIVER    GOLDSMITH. 

And  quite  forgot  their  vices  in  their  woe;  160 

Careless  their  merits  or  their  faults  to  scan, 
His  pity  gave  ere  charity  began. 

Thus  to  relieve  the  wretched  was  his  pride, 
And  e'en  his  failings  leaned  to  Virtue's  side; 
But  in  his  duty  prompt  at  every  call,  '  165 

He  watched  and  wept,  he  prayed  and  felt  for  all; 
And,  as  a  bird  each  fond  endearment  tries 
To  tempt  its  new-fledged  offspring  to  the  skies, 
He  tried  each  art,  reproved  each  dull  delay, 
Allured  to  brighter  worlds,  and  led  the  way.  170 

Beside  the  bed  where  parting  life  was  laid, 
And  sorrow,  guilt,  and  pain  by  turns  dismayed, 
The  reverend  champion  stood.     At  his  control 
Despair  and  anguish  fled  the  struggling  soul; 
Comfort  came  down  the  trembling  wretch  to  raise,  175 

And  his  last  faltering  accents  whispered  praise. 
"""  At  church,  with  meek  and  unaffected  grace, 
His  looks  adorned  the  venerable  place; 
Truth  from  his  lips  prevailed  with  double  sway, 
And  fools,  who  came  to  scoff,  remained  to  pray.  180 

The  service  past,  around  the  pious  man, 
With  steady  zeal,  each  honest  rustic  ran; 
Even  children  followed  with  endearing  wile, 
And  plucked  his  gown  to  share  the  good  man's  smile. 
His  ready  smile  a  parent's  warmth  expressed;  185 

Their  welfare;  pleased  him  and  their  cares  distressed: 
To  them  his  heart,  his  love,  his  griefs  were  given, 
But  all  his  serious  thoughts  had  rest  in  heaven. 
As  some  tall  cliff  that  lifts  its  awful  form, 
Swells  from  the  vale,  and  midway  leaves  the  storm,  190 

Though  round  its  breast  the  rolling  clouds  are  spread, 
Eternal  sunshine  settles  on  its  head. 

Beside  yon  straggling  fence  that  skirts  1  the  way, 

1  borders  the  road. 


THE    DESERTED   VILLAGE.  11 

With  blossomed  furze  l  unprofitably  gay,a 
There,  in  his  noisy  mansion,  skilled  to  rule,  195 

The^village  master  taught  his  little  school. 
A  man  severe  he  was,  and  stern  to  view; 
I  knew  him  well;  and  every  truant  knew: 
Well  had  the  boding  tremblers  learned  to  trace 
The  day's  disasters  in  his  morning  face;  200 

IFull  well  they  laughed  with  counterfeited  glee 
|At  all  his  jokes,  for  many  a  joke  had  he; 
Full  well  the  busy  whisper  circling  round 
Conveyed  the  dismal  tidings  when  he  frowned. 
Yet  he  was  kind,  or,  if  severe  in  aught,  205 

The  love  he  bore  to  learning  was  in  fault; 
The  village  all  declared  how  much  he  knew : 
'Twas  certain  he  could  write,  and  cipher  too; 
Lands  he  could  measure,  terms  and  tides  presage,3 
And  even  the  story  ran  that  he  could  gauge : 4  210 

(In  arguing,  too,  tho  parson  owned  his  skill, 
For,  even  though  vanquished,  he  could  argue  still; 
While  words  of  learned  length  and  thundering  sound 
Amazed  the  gazing  rustics  ranged  around; 
And  still  they  gazed,  and  still  the  wonder  grew,  215 

That  one  small  head  could  carry  all  he  knew. 

But  past  is  all  his  fame.     The  very  spot 
WlTere  many  a  time  he  triumphed  is  forgot. 
Near  yonder  thorn,  that  lifts  its  head  on  high, 
Where  once  the  sign-post  caught  the  passing  eye,  220 

Low  lies  that  house  where  nut-brown  drafts5  inspired, 
Where  gray-beard  mirth  and  smiling  toil  retired, 
Where  village  statesmen  talked  with  looks  profound, 
Arid  news  much  older  than  their  ale  went  round. 

1  Furze— a,  thorny  shrub. 

2  gay  with  flowers  that  do  no  good. 

3  Presage — foretell. 

4  Gauge — to  measure  ;  here  probably  to  survey  or  measure  land. 
6  Drafts — drinks  of  brown  ale. 


12  OLIVER    GOLDSMITH. 

Imagination  fondly  stoops  to  trace  225 

The  parlor  splendors  of  that  festive  place : 
The  whitewashed  wall,  the  nicely  sanded  floor, 
The  varnished  clock  that  clicked  behind  the  door; 

IThe  chest  contrived  a  double  debt  to  pay/ 
A  bed  by  night,  a  chest  of  drawers  by  day;  230 

The  pictures  placed  for  ornament  and  use, 
The  twelve  good  rules,2  the  royal  game  of  goose; 
The  hearth,  except  when  winter  chilled  the  day, 
With,  aspen  boughs  and  flowers  and  fennel  gay; 
While  broken  teacups,  wisely  kept  for  show,  235 

Hanged  o'er  the  chimney,  glistened  in  a  row. 

Vain,  transitory  splendors!  could  not  all 
Eeprieve  the  tottering  mansion  from  its  fall  ? 
Obscure  it  sinks,  nor  shall  it  more  impart 
An  hour's  importance  to  the  poor  man's  heart.  240 

Thither  no  more  the  peasant  shall  repair 
To  sweet  oblivion  of  his  daily  care; 
No  more  the  farmer's  news,  the  barber's  tale, 
No  more  the  woodman's  ballad  shall  prevail; 
No  more  the  smith  his  dusky  brow  shall  clear,  245 

Relax  his  ponderous  strength,  and  lean  to  hear; 
The  host  himself  no  longer  shall  be  found 
Careful  to  see  the  mantling  bliss  go  round; 3 
Nor  the  coy  maid,  half  willing  to  be  pressed, 
Shall  kiss  the  cup  to  pass  it  to  the  rest.  250 

Yes!  let  the  rich  deride,  the  proud  disdain, 
These  simple  blessings  of  the  lowly  train; 
To  me  more  dear,  congenial  to  my  heart,4 
One  native  charm,  than  all  the  gloss  of  art; 
Spontaneous  joys,  where  Nature  has  its  play,  255 

1  It  served  for  two  uses.  2  rules  of  behavior  in  the  inn. 

s  the  glass  of  beer  or  wine.  Mantling  may  refer  to  the  color  of  the  drink  or  to  the 
color  it  causes  in  the  face.  Goldsmith  calls  it  bliss,  because  he  supposes  that  it  makes 
people  happy. 

4  One  natural  charm  is  pleasanter  to  his  heart  than  all  the  polish  of  art  is. 


THE  DESEKTED  VILLAGE.  13 

The  soul  adopts,  and  owns  their  first-born  sway. 

Lightly  they  frolic  o'er  the  vacant  mind, 

Unenvied,  unmolested,  unconfined. 

But  the  long  pomp,  the  midnight  masquerade, 

With  all  the  freaks  of  wanton  wealth  arrayed —  260 

In  these,  ere  triflers  half  their  wish  obtain, 

The  toiling  pleasure  sickens  into  pain; 

And,  e'en  while  fashion's  brightest  arts  decoy,1 

The  heart  distrusting  asks  if  this  be  joy. 

Ye  friends  to  truth,  ye  statesmen  who  survey  265 

The  rich  man's  joys  increase,  the  poor's  decay, 
'Tis  yours  to  judge,  how  wide  the  limits  stand  a 
Between  a  splendid  and  a  happy  land. 
Proud  swells  the  tide  with  loads  of  freighted  ore,3 
And  shouting  Folly  hails  them  from  her  shore;  270 

Hoards  e'en  beyond  the  miser's  wish  abound, 
And  rich  men  flock  from  all  the  world  around. 
Yet  count  our  gains.     This  wealth  is  but  a  name 
That  leaves  our  useful  products  still  the  same. 
Not  so  the  loss.     The  man  of  wealth  and  pride  275 

Takes  up  a  space  that  many  poor  supplied; 4 
Space  for  his  lake,  his  park's  extended  bounds, 
Space  for  his  horses,  equipage,  and  hounds; 
The  robe  that  wraps  his  limbs  in  silken  sloth 
Has  robbed  the  neighboring  fields  of  half  their  growth; 5    280 
His  seat,  where  solitary  sports  are  seen, 
Indignant  spurns  the  cottage  from  the  green  : 
Around  the  world  each  needful  product  flies, 
For  all  the  luxuries  the  world  supplies; 

While  thus  the  land  adorned  for  pleasure  all  285 

In  barren  splendor  feebly  waits  the  fall. 

As  some  fair  female,  unadorned  and  plain, 

1  tempt.  2  What  a  great  distance  there  is  ;  how  far  apart  the  boundaries  are. 

3  The  ocean  swells  with  pride  because  it  carries  boats  full  of  gold. 

4  that  supplied  many  poor  people  with  food. 

5  Half  the  growth  of  the  fields  has  been  sold  to  buy  the  robe. 


14  OLIVER   GOLDSMITH. 

Secure  to  please  while  youth  confirms  her  reign, 
Slights  every  borrowed  charm  that  dress  supplies, 
Nor  shares  with  art  the  triumph  of  her  eyes;  290 

But  when  those  charms  are  past, — for  charms  are  frail, — 
When  time  advances,  and  when  lovers  fail, 
She  then  shines  forth,  solicitous  to  bless, 
In  all  the  glaring  impotence  of  dress. 

Thus  fares  the  land  by  luxury  betrayed:  295 

In  nature's  simplest  charms  at  first  arrayed, 
But  verging  to  decline,  its  splendors  rise; 
Its  vistas  strike,  its  palaces  surprise: 
While,  scourged  by  famine  from  the  smiling  land, 
The  mournful  peasant  leads  his  humble  band,         ,    A        300 
And  while  he  sinks,  without  one  arm  to  save,     '^'^  ' 
The  country  blooms— a  garden  and  a  grave.1    ( 
Where  then,  ah!  where,  shall  poverty  reside, 
To  'scape  the  pressure  of  contiguous  pride  ? 2 
If  to  some  common's  fenceless  limits  strayed  305 

He  drives  his  flock  to  pick  the  scanty  blade, 
Those  fenceless  fields  the  sons  of  wealth  divide, 
And  even  the  bare-worn  common  is  denied. 
If  to  the  city  sped — what  waits  him  there  ? 
To  see  profusion  that  he  must  not  share;  310 

To  see  ten  thousand  baneful  arts  combined 
To  pamper  luxury,  and  thin  mankind; 
To  see  those  joys  the  sons  of  pleasure  know 
Extorted  from  his  fellow-creature's  woe. 

Here  while  the  courtier  glitters  in  brocade,  315 

There  the  pale  artist  plies  the  sickly  trade; 
Here  while  the  proud  their  long-drawn  pomps  display, 
There  the  black  gibbet  glooms  beside  the  way. 
The  dome,  where  pleasure  holds  her  midnight  reign 
Here,  richly  decked,  admits  the  gorgeous  train :  320 

1  a  pleasure  garden,  but  all  the  prosperity  of  the  poor  peasant  is  destroyed  to  make 
it,  and  so  is  buried  in  it.  2  pride  that  is  its  next-door  neighbor. 


THE   DESERTED   VILLAGE.  15 

Tumultuous  grandeur  crowds  the  blazing  square, 

The  rattling  chariots  clash,  the  torches  glare. 

Sure  scenes  like  these  no  troubles  e'er  annoy! 

Sure  these  denote  one  universal  joy! 

Are  these  thy  serious  thoughts  ? — Ah,  turn  thine  eyes         325 

Where  the  poor  houseless  shivering  female  lies. 

She  once,  perhaps,  in  village  plenty  blessed, 

Has  wept  at  tales  of  innocence  distressed; 

Her  modest  looks  the  cottage  might  adorn, 

Sweet  as  the  primrose  peeps  beneath  the  thorn:  330 

Now  lost  to  all;  her  friends,  her  virtue  fled, 

Near  her  betrayer's  door  she  lays  her  head, 

And,  pinch'd  with  cold,  and  shrinking  from  the  shower, 

With  heavy  heart  deplores  that  luckless  hour, 

When  idly  first,  ambitious  of  the  town,  335 

She  left  her  wheel  and  robes  of  country  brown. 

Do  thine,  sweet  Auburn, — thine,  the  loveliest  train, — 
Do  thy  fair  tribes  participate1  her  pain  ? 
Even  now,  perhaps,  by  cold  and  hunger  led, 
At  proud  men's  doors  they  ask  a  little  bread.  340 

Ah,  no!     To  distant  climes,  a  dreary  scene, 
Where  half  the  convex  world  intrudes  between,* 
Through  torrid  tracts  with  fainting  steps  they  go, 
Where  wild  Altama8  murmurs  to  their  woe. 
Far  different  there  from  all  that  charmed  before,  345 

The  various  terrors  of  that  horrid  shore: 
Those  blazing  suns  that  dart  a  downward  ray, 
And  fiercely  shed  intolerable  day; 
Those  matted  woods,  where  birds  forget  to  sing, 
But  silent  bats  in  drowsy  clusters  cling;  350 

Those  poisonous  fields  with  rank  luxuriance  crowned, 
Where  the  dark  scorpion  gathers  death  around; 
Where  at  each  step  the  stranger  fears  to  wake 

1  share  her  pain.  2  Half  the  round  world  pushes  itself  in  between. 

3  Altama— tine  Altamaha  River,  in  Georgia. 


16  OLIVER    GOLDSMITH. 

The  rattling  terrors  of  the  vengeful  snake; 

Where  crouching  tigers  wait  their  hapless  prey,  355 

And  savage  men  more  murderous  still  than  they; 

While  oft  in  whirls  the  mad  tornado  flies, 

Mingling  the  ravaged  landscape  with  the  skies. 

Far  different  these  from  every  former  scene, 

The  cooling  brook,  the  grassy-vested  green,  360 

The  breezy  covert  of  the  warbling  grove, 

That  only  sheltered  thefts  of  harmless  love. 

Good  Heaven!  what  sorrows  gloomed  that  parting  day, 
That  called  them  from  their  native  walks  away; 
When  the  poor  exiles,  every  pleasure  past,  365 

Hung  round  the  bowers,  and  fondly  looked  their  last, 
And  took  a  long  farewell,  and  wished  in  vain 
For  seats  like  these  beyond  the  western  main, 
And  shuddering  still  to  face  the  distant  deep, 
Returned  and  wept,  and  still  returned  to  weep.  370 

The  good  old  sire  the  first  prepared  to  go 
To  new-found  worlds,  and  wept  for  others'  woe; 
But  for  himself,  in  conscious  virtue  brave, 
He  only  wished  for  worlds  beyond  the  grave. 
His  lovely  daughter,  lovelier  in  her  tears,  375 

The  fond  companion  of  his  helpless  years, 
Silent  went  next,  neglectful  of  her  charms, 
And  left  a  lover's  for  a  father's  arms. 
With  louder  plaints  the  mother  spoke  her  woes, 
And  blessed  the  cot  where  every  pleasure  rose,  380 

And  kissed  her  thoughtless  babes  with  many  a  tear, 
And  clasped  them  close,  in  sorrow  doubly  dear, 
Whilst  her  fond  husband  strove  to  lend  relief 
In  all  the  silent  manliness  of  grief. 

0  Luxury!  thou  cursed  by  Heaven's  decree,  385 

How  ill  exchanged  are  things  like  these  for  thee ! 
How  do  thy  potions,1  with  insidious  joy, 

1  A  potion  is  a  drink.    The  potion  doesn't  have  the  insidious  joy ;  it  gives  a  sly  joy. 


THE    DESERTED   VILLAGE.  17 

Diffuse  their  pleasure  only  to  destroy! l 

Kingdoms  by  thee,  to  sickly  greatness  grown, 

Boast  of  a  florid  vigor  not  their  own.  390 

At  every  draft  more  large  and  large  they  grow, 

A  bloated  mass  of  rank  unwieldy  woe; 

Till  sapped  their  strength,  and  every  part  unsound, 

Down,  down  they  sink,  and  spread  a  ruin  round. 

Even  now  the  devastation  is  begun,  395 

And  half  the  business  of  destruction  done; 
Even  now,  methinks,  as  pondering  here  I  stand, 
I  see  the  rural  virtues  leave  the  land  ; 
Down  where  yon  anchoring  vessel  spreads  the  sail, 
That  idly  waiting  flaps  with  every  gale,  400 

Downward  they  move,  a  melancholy  band, 
Pass  from  the  shore,  and  darken  all  the  strand. 
Contented  toil,  and  hospitable  care, 
And  kind  connubial a  tenderness  are  there; 
And  piety  with  wishes  placed  above,  405 

And  steady  loyalty,  and  faithful  love. 

And  thou,  sweet  Poetry,  thou  loveliest  maid, 
Still  first  to  fly  where  sensual  joys  invade; 
Unfit  in  these  degenerate  times  of  shame 
To  catch  the  heart,  or  strike  for  honest  fame;  410 

Dear  charming  nymph,  neglected  and  decried, 
My  shame  in  crowds,  my  solitary  pride; 
Thou  source  of  all  my  bliss,  and  all  my  woe, 
That  found'st  me  poor  at  first,  and  keep'st  me  so; 
Thou  guide  by  which  the  nobler  arts  excel,  415 

Thou  nurse  of  every  virtue — fare  thee  well! 
Farewell,  and  oh  !  where'er  thy  voice  be  tried, 
On  Torno's3  cliffs,  or  Pambamarca's 4  side, 

1  Goldsmith  is  comparing  the  pleasure  gained  from  riches  with  that  gained  from  strong 
drink,  which  he  now  says  pleases  at  first,  but  injures  afterwards. 

2  the  tenderness  of  husband  and  wife. 

3  the 'heights  around  a  lake  in  northern  Sweden. 

4  a  mountain  in  Ecuador. 


18  OLIVER    GOLDSMITH. 

Whether  where  equinoctial  fervors  glow, 

Or  winter  wraps  the  polar  world  in  snow,,  420 

Still  let  thy  voice,  prevailing  over  time, 

Eedress  the  rigors  of  the  inclement  clime; l 

Aid  slighted  truth  with  thy  persuasive  strain; 

(Teach  erring  man  to  spurn  the  rage  of  gain; 

(Teach  him,  that  states  of  native  strength  possessed,  425 

Though  very  poor,  may  still  be  very  blest; 

That  trade's  proud  empire  hastes  to  swift  decay, 

As  ocean  sweeps  the  labored  mole  away; 

While  self-dependent  power  can  time  defy, 

As  rocks  resist  the  billows  and  the  sky.  430 


SUGGESTIONS  FOR  QUESTIONS. 

42.  Is  the  line  easy  to  read  aloud  ? 

Does  it  describe  a  movement  which  is  easy  ? 
Find  out  what  alliteration  is. 
52.  Accumulate  here  means  to  grow  greater. 

What  does  decay  here  mean  ?  Find  out  what  antithesis  is. 
66.  How  does  the  expression  "Unwieldy  wealth "  create  the 
impression  which  the  author  wishes  to  make  ?    Compare  with 
line  42. 

76.  How  do  the  glades  "confess  the  tyrant's  power  "  ? 
100.  What  figure  of  speech  is  in  this  line  ? 
136.  Find  an  example  of  alliteration. 

148.  See  what  evidence  of  the  poet's  skill  you  can  find  in  this 
line. 

180.  What  figure  of  speech  is  in  this  line  ? 
302.  What  figure  is  here  ? 

Find  other  instances  of  antithesis,  of  alliteration,  and  of 
lines  whose  sound  suits  their  meaning  in  the  poem. 

10-14.  Make  a  list  of  the  things  mentioned  in  these  lines. 
Shut  your  eyes  and  try  to  see  the  whole  picture. 

1  soften  the  severities  of  the  harsh  climate. 


THE    DESERTED    VILLAGE.  19 

41-48.  Count  the  features  enumerated  in  this  scene. 
Try  to  see  the  picture. 

100-130.  Find  within  these  lines  a  picture  painted  by  enumer- 
ating its  parts. 

(Teach  other  figures  of  speech.     See  Standard  Literature 
Series,  Nos.  26  and  47.) 


SUGGESTIONS  FOR  COMPOSITIONS. 
(Daily  themes.) 

1.  Write  a  paragraph  describing  the  preacher. 

2.  Write  a  paragraph  describing  the  schoolmaster. 

3.  Write  a  paragraph  describing  a  scene  in  the  village  tavern. 

4.  Write  a  paragraph  describing  the  village  as  it  used  to  be. 

5.  Write  a  paragraph  describing  the  scene  when  the  village 
people  left  their  homes. 

6.  Write  a  comparison  between  the  English  home  that  the 
people  left  and  the  land  in  the  colonies  to  which  they  went. 

^  7.  What  lesson  did  Goldsmith  wish  to  teach  in  this  poem  ? 

8.  Write  a  paragraph  telling  whether  you  think  Goldsmith 
was  right  or  not,  and  why. 


SUGGESTIONS  FOE  MEMORY   WORK. 

1.  Learn  lines  51-56. 

2.  Learn  lines  99-102. 

3.  Learn  lines  167-170. 

4.  Learn  lines  187-192. 


20  OLIVER    GOLDSMITH. 

THE  TRAVELER; 

OR,  A  PROSPECT  OF  SOCIETY. 

[GOLDSMITH,  when  he  was  a  young  man,  wandered  from  village 
to  village  through  Europe,  playing  his  flute  for  the  amusement 
of  the  peasants,  and  thus  earning  food  and  lodging.  During  this 
trip  he  wrote  a  poetical  letter  to  his  brother,  describing  the  various 
countries  which  he  saw,  but  years  afterwards,  when  he  was  an 
older  man,  he  re- wrote  the  poem,  "The  Traveler,"  adding  the 
thoughts  and  morals  which  you  will  find  scattered  through  it. 

Thackeray,  himself  a  great  author,  who  lived  shortly  after  Gold- 
smith, in  a  lecture  which  he  gave  on  Goldsmith,  says  : 

"Who,  of  the  millions  whom  he  has  amused,  doesn't  love 
him  ?  To  be  the  most  beloved  of  English  writers,  what  a  title 
that  is  for  a  man !  A  wild  youth,  wayward,  but  full  of  tenderness 
and  affection,  quits  the  country  village  where  his  boyhood  has 
been  passed  in  happy  musing,  in  idle  shelter,  in  fond  longing  to 
see  the  great  world  out  of  doors,  and  achieve  name  and  fortune — 
after  years  of  dire  struggle  and  neglect  and  poverty,  his  heart 
turning  back  as  fondly  to  his  native  place,  as  it  had  longed 
eagerly  for  change  when  sheltered  there,  he  writes  a  poem,  full 
of  the  recollections  and  feelings  of  home.  .  .  .  Wander  he  must, 
but  he  carries  away  a  home-relic  with  him,  and  dies  with  it  on 
his  breast.  His  nature  is  truant ;  in  repose  it  longs  for  change, 
as  on  the  journey  it  looks  back  for  friends  and  quiet.  .  .  .  Your 
love  for  him  is  half  pity.  You  come  hot  and  tired  from  the  day's 
battle,  and  this  sweet  minstrel  sings  to  you.  Who  could  harm 
the  kind  vagrant  harper  ?  Whom  did  he  ever  hurt  ?  He  carries 
no  weapon — save  the  harp  on  which  he  plays  to  you ;  and  with 
which  he  delights  great  and  humble,  young  and  old.  .  .  .  Not 
one  of  us,  however  busy  or  hard,  but  once  or  twice  in  our  lives, 
has  passed  an  evening  with  him,  and  undergone  the  charm  of  his 
delightful  music."] 

REMOTE,  unfriended,  melancholy,  slow, 
Or  *  by  the  lazy  Scheld2  or  wandering  Po;3 
Or  onward,4  where  the  rude  Carinthian  boor 6 
Against  the  houseless  stranger  shuts  the  door; 

1  Or  here  means  either.  2  slow-flowing  river  of  Belgium  and  Holland. 

3  largest  river  of  Italy.    <  further.     6  peasant  of  Carinthia,  a  part  of  Austro-Hungary. 


THE    TRAVELER.  21 

Or  where  Campania's l  plain  forsaken  lies,  5 

A  weary  waste  expanding  to  the  skies; 

Where'er  I  roam,  whatever  realms  to  see, 

My  heart  untraveled2  fondly  turns  to  thee: 

Still  to  my  brother  turns,  with  ceaseless  pain, 

And  drags  at  each  remove  a  lengthening  chain.3  10 

Eternal  blessings  crown  4  my  earliest  friend, 
And  round  his  dwelling  guardian  saints  attend; 
Blest  be  that  spot,  where  cheerful  guests  retire 
To  pause  from  toil,  and  trim,  their  evening  fire: 
Blest  that  abode,  where  want  and  pain  repair,6  15 

And  every  stranger  finds  a  ready  chair : 
Blest  be  those  feasts,  with  simple  plenty  crowned, 
Where  all  the  ruddy  family  around 
Laugh  at  the  jests  or  pranks  that  never  fail, 
Or  sigh  with  pity  at  some  mournful  tale;  20 

Or  press  the  bashful  stranger  to  his  food, 
And  learn  the  luxury  of  doing  good. 

But  me,  not  destined  such  delights  to  share, 
My  prime  of  life  in  wandering  spent  and  care; 
Impelled,  with  steps  unceasing,  to  pursue  25 

Some  fleeting  good,  that  mocks  me  with  the  view; 
That,  like  the  circle  bounding  earth  and  skies, 
Allures  from  far,  yet,  as  I  follow,  flies;6 
My  fortune  leads 7  to  traverse  realms  alone, 

And  find  no  spot  of  all  the  world  my  own.  30 

c.  **r 
Even  now,  where  Alpine  solitudes  ascend, 

I  sit  me  down  a  pensive  hour  to  spend; 
And,  placed  on  high  above  the  storm's  career, 
Look  downward  where  a  hundred  realms  appear; 

1  a  central  province  of  Italy. 

2  His  heart  did  not  travel  with  his  body,  but  remained  with  his  brother. 

3  Criminals  often  had  chains  attached  to  their  ankles.    His  heart  was  bound  to  home 
by  a  chain  of  memories. 

4  May  they  crown.  5  where  those  suffering  want  and  pain  go  for  help. 

6  The  horizon  moves  away  as  we  approach  it. 

7  leads  me  ;  object  in  line  23. 


22  OLIVER    GOLDSMITH. 

Lakes,  forests,  cities,  plains  extending  wide,  35 

The  pomp  of  kings,  the  shepherd's  humbler  pride. 

When  thus  creation's  charms  around  combine, 
Amidst  the  store  should  thankless  pride  repine  ? 
Say,  should  the  philosophic  mind  disdain 
That  good,  which  makes  each  humbler  bosom  vain  ? l  40 

Let  school-taught  pride  dissemble  all  it  can, 
These  little  things  are  great  to  little  man; 
And  wiser  he,  whose  sympathetic  mind 
Exults  in  all  the  good  of  all  mankind. 

Ye  glittering  towns,  with  wealth  and  splendor  crowned ;       45 
Ye  fields,  where  summer  spreads  profusion  round; 
Ye  lakes,  whose  vessels  catch  the  busy  gale; 
Ye  bending  swains,  that  dress  the  flowery  vale; 
For  me  your  tributary  stores  combine: 
Creation's,  heir,  the i  world,  the-world  is  mine ! 3  50 

As  some  lone  miser  visiting  his  store, 
Bends  at  his  treasure,  counts,  recounts  it  o'er; 
Hoards  after  hoards  his  rising  raptures  fill, 
Yet  still  he  sighs,  for  hoards  are  wanting  still: 
Thus  to  my  breast  alternate  passions  rise,3  55 

Pleased  with  each  good  that  Heaven  to  man  supplies : 
Yet  of t  a  sigh  prevails,  and  sorrows  fall, 
To  see  the  hoard  of  human  bliss  so  small ; 
And  oft  I  wish,  amidst  the  scene,  to  find 
Some  spot  to  real  happiness  consigned,  60 

Where  my  worn  soul,  each  wandering  hope  at  rest, 
May  gather  bliss  to  see  my  fellows  blest. 

But  where  to  find  that  happiest  spot  below, 
Who  can  direct,  when  all  pretend  to  know  ? 
The  shuddering  tenant  of  the  frigid  zone  65 

Boldly  proclaims  that  happiest  spot  his  own; 
Extols  the  treasures  of  his  stormy  seas, 
And  his  long  nights  of  revelry  and  ease; 

1  Philosophers  pretend  to  despise  the  riches  of  the  world. 

3  In  one  way  he  owns  what  he  enjoys.     3  First  one  feeling  and  then  another  rises. 


THE    TRAVELER.  23 

The  naked  negro,  panting  at  the  line/ 

Boasts  of  his  golden  sands  and  palmy  wine,  70 

Basks  in  the  glare,  or  stems  the  tepid  wave, 

And  thanks  his  gods  for  all  the  good  they  gave. 

Such  is  the  patriot's  boast,  where'er  we  roam, 

His  first,  best  country  ever  is — at  home. 

And  yet,  perhaps,  if  countries  we  compare,  75 

And  estimate  the  blessings  which  they  share, 

Though  patriots  flatter,  still  shall  wisdom 2  find 

An  equal  portion  dealt  to  all  mankind; 

As  different  good,  by  Art  or  Nature  given, 

To  different  nations  makes  their  blessings  even.  80 

Nature,  a  mother  kind  alike  to  all, 
Still  grants  her  bliss  at  labor's  earnest  call; 
With  food  as  well  the  peasant  is  supplied 
On  Idra's3  cliffs  as  ArnoV  shelvy  side; 

And  though  the  rocky  crested  summits  frown,  85 

These  rocks,  by  custom 6  turn  to  beds  of  down. 
From  Art  more  various6  are  the  blessings  sent; 
Wealth,  commerce,  honor,  liberty,  content. 
Yet  these  each  other's  power  so  strong 7  contest, 
That  either  8  seems  destructive  of  the  rest.  90 

Where  wealth  and  freedom  reign,  contentment  fails, 
And  honor  sinks  where  commerce  long  prevails. 
Hence  every  state,  to  one  loved  blessing  prone, 
Conforms  and  models  life  to  that  alone. 

Each  to  the  favorite  happiness  attends,  95 

And  spurns  the  plan  that  aims  to  other  ends; 
'Till,  carried  to  excess  in  each  domain, 
This  favorite  good  begets  peculiar  pain.9 

1  the  equator.  2  Each  patriot  flatters  his  own  land,  but  the  wise  man  finds,  etc. 

3  Idria  in  the  Austrian  Empire.    The  town  is  among  the  mountains. 

4  important  river  of  central  Italy. 

6  "  Custom  "  here  means  trade.   There  are  quicksilver  mines  near  Idria,  and  by  trade 
the  rocks  furnish  comforts  to  the  people. 

6  more  various  from  Art  than  from  Nature  (see  lines  79  and  81). 

7  strongly.  8  either  here  means  each.  9  pain  peculiar  to  itself. 

3 


24:  OLIVER    GOLDSMITH. 

But  let  us  try  these  truths  with  closer  eyes, 
And  trace  them  through  the  prospect  as  it  lies:  100 

Here  for  a  while  my  proper  cares l  resigned, 
Here  let  me  sit  in  sorrow  for  mankind; 
Like  yon  neglected  shrub  at  random  cast, 
That  shades  the  steep,  and  sighs  at  every  blast. 

Far  to  the  right  where  Apennine  ascends,  105 

Bright  as  the  summer,  Italy  extends; 
Its  uplands,  sloping,  deck  the  mountain's  side, 
Woods  over  woods  in  gay  theatric  pride; 
While  oft  some  temple's  moldering  tops  between a 
With  venerable  grandeur  mark  the  scene.  110 

Could,3JN"ature's  bounty  satisfy  the  breast, 
The  sons  of  Italy  were  surely  blest. 
Whatever  fruits  in  different  climes  are  found, 
That  proudly  rise,  or  humbly  court  the  ground; 
Whatever  blooms  in  torrid  tracts  appear,  115 

Whose  bright  succession  decks  the  varied  year; 
Whatever  sweets  salute  the  northern  sky 
With  vernal  lives  that  blossom  but  to  die; 
These  here  disporting  own  the  kindred  soil, 
Nor  ask  luxuriance  from  the  planter's  toil:  120 

While  sea-born  gales  their  gelid  *  wings  expand 
To  winnow  fragrance  round  the  smiling  land. 

But  small  the  bliss 6  that  sense  alone  bestows, 
And  sensual  bliss  is  all  the  nation 6  knows. 
In  florid  beauty  groves  and  fields  appear;  125 

Man  seems  the  only  growth  that  dwindles  here. 
Contrasted  faults7  through  all  his  manners  reign: 
Though  poor,  luxurious;8  though  submissive,  vaio; 

1  "  my  proper  cares  "—cares  peculiar  to  me. 

2  seen  between  the  trees;  there  are  many  old  churches  in  Italy.  3  if  it  could. 

4  cold;  congealed. 

5  The  bliss  is  small.    Goldsmith  means  that  we  get  much  less  pleasure  through  the 
body  than  through  the  mind. 

*  the  Italian  nation  ;  the  nation  that  lives  amid  these  scenes. 

7  faults  just  the  opposite  of  each  other. 

8  Although  the  Italian  is  poor,  he  loves  his  ease. 


THE    TRAVELER.  25 

Though  grave,  yet  trifling;  zealous,  yet  untrue; 

And  even  in  penance  planning  sins  anew.1  130 

All  evils  here  contaminate  the  mind, 

That  opulence  departed  leaves  behind ; 2 

For  wealth  was  theirs,  not  far  removed  the  date  3 

When  commerce  proudly  flourished  through  the  state; 

At  her  command  the  palace  learned  to  rise,  135 

Again  the  long-fallen  column  sought  the  skies: 

The  canvas  glowed,  beyond  e'en  nature  warm, 

The  pregnant  quarry  teemed  with  human  form ; 4 

Till,  more  unsteady  6  than  the  southern  gale, 

Commerce  on  other  shores  displayed  her  sail;  140 

While  nought  remained  of  all  that  riches  gave, 

But  towns  unmanned  and  lords  without  a  slave; 

And  late  the  nation  found  with  fruitless  skill 

Its  former  strength  was  but  plethoric  ill.8 

Yet  still  the  loss  of  wealth  is  here  supplied  145 

By  arts,  the  splendid  wrecks  of  former  pride; 
From  these  the  feeble  heart  and  long-fallen  mind 
An  easy  compensation  seem  to  find. 
Here  may  be  seen,  in  bloodless  pomp  arrayed, 
The  pasteboard  triumph  and  the  cavalcade; 7  150 

Processions  formed  for  piety  and  love, 
A  mistress 8  or  a  saint  in  every  grove. 

1  While  he  performs  penance  for  one  sin,  he  plans  another. 

2  People  who  once  had  riches,  but  have  lost  them,  are  apt  to  be  proud  and  lazy. 

3  at  a  time  not  far  past. 

4  The  human  forms  are  all  in  the  stone  quarry,  but  it  takes  the  sculptor  to  set  them 
free — to  cut  them  out.    He  refers  to  the  work  of  the  noted  sculptors  ;  the  marble  came 
from  the  quarries  at  Carrara. 

8  If  people  find  goods  at  a  new  place  better  or  cheaper,  they  trade  at  the  new  place. 
So  commerce  is  unsteady. 

*  As  eating  too  much  gives  unhealthy  fat,  rather  than  muscular  strength,  so  being  too 
rich  makes  a  nation  seem  great  without  giving  real  strength.  The  Italian  cities  were  at 
the  height  of  their  commercial  activity  about  the  close  of  the  Middle  Ages.  The  dis- 
covery of  America  and  of  the  sea-route  to  India  were  the  main  causes  of  the  decay  of 
Italian  commerce. 

T  Triumphant  processions  in  Italy  used  to  be  in  steel  armor,  after  bloody  battles;  now 
they  are  in  pasteboard  helmets  and  fancy  dresses  for  pleasure. 

8  Mistress  means  lady-love. 


26  OLIVER   GOLDSMITH. 

By  sports  like  these  are  all  their  cares  beguiled, 
The  sports  of  children  satisfy  the  child.1 

Each  nobler  aim,  repressed  by  long  control,  155 

Now  sinks  at  last,  or  feebly  mans2  the  soul; 
While  low  delights,  succeeding  fast  behind, 
In  happier  meanness3  occupy  the  mind: 
As  in  those  domes,  where  Caesars  once  bore  sway, 
Defaced  by  time  and  tottering  in  decay,  160 

There  in  the  ruin,  heedless  of  the  dead, 
The  shelter-seeking  peasant  builds  his  shed, 
And,  wondering  man  could  want  the  larger  pile,4 
Exults,  and  owns  his  cottage  with  a  smile. 

My  soul  turn  from  them,  turn  we  to  survey  165 

Where  rougher  climes  a  nobler  race  display, 
Where  the  bleak  Swiss  their  stormy  mansions  tread, 
And  force  a  churlish  soil  for  scanty  bread; 
No  product  here  the  barren  hills  afford, 

But  man  and  steel,  the  soldier  and  the  sword.5  170 

No  vernal  blooms  their  torpid  rocks  array, 
But  winter  lingering  chills  the  lap  of  May; 
No  zephyr  fondly  sues  the  mountain's  breast, 
But  meteors  glare,  and  stormy  glooms  invest. 

Yet  still,  even  here,  content  can  spread  a  charm,  175 

Redress  the  clime,  and  all  its  rage  disarm. 
Though  poor  the  peasant's  hut,  his  feasts  though  small, 
He  sees  his  little  lot  the  lot  of  all ; 6 
Sees  no  contiguous7  palace  rear  its  head 

To  shame  the  meanness  of  his  humble  shed;  180 

No  costly  lord  the  sumptuous  banquet  deal,8 
To  make  him  loathe  his  vegetable  meal, 
But  calm,  and  bred  in  ignorance  and  toil, 

1  He  calls  the  Italians  children. 

2  controls.  3  lowness.  4  building. 

6  The  Swiss  were  the  chief  mercenary  soldiers  of  Europe  from  the  fifteenth  century 
through  the  French  Kevolution. 

6  His  life  is  like  the  life  of  all  his  neighbors. 

7  adjacent ;  close  at  hand.  8  He  sees  no  lord  deal  a  banquet. 


THE    TRAVELER.      .  27 

Each  wish  contracting,  fits  him  to  the  soil. 

Cheerful  at  morn,  he  wakes  from  short  repose,  185 

Breathes  the  keen  air,  and  carols  as  he  goes; 

With  patient  angle  trolls  the  finny  deep, 

Or  drives  his  venturous  plowshare  to  the  steep; 

Or  seeks  the  den  where  snow  tracks  mark  the  way, 

And  drags  the  struggling  savage1  into  day.  190 

At  night  returning,  every  labor  sped, 

He  sits  him  down  the  monarch  of  a  shed; 

Smiles  by  his  cheerful  fire,  and  round  surveys 

His  children's  looks,  that  brighten  at  the  blaze; 

While  his  loved  partner,  boastful  of  her  hoard,  195 

Displays  her  cleanly  platter  on  the  board; 

And  haply  too  some  pilgrim,  thither  led, 

With  many  a  tale  repays  the  nightly  bed. 

Thus  every  good  his  native  wilds  impart, 
Imprints  the  patriot  passion  on  his  heart; a  200 

And  even  those  ills,  that  round  his  mansion  rise, 
Enhance  the  bliss  his  scanty  fund  supplies. 
Dear  is  that  shed  to  which  his  soul  conforms,3 
And  dear  that  hill  which  lifts  him  to  the  storms; 
And  as  a  child,  when  scaring  sounds  molest,  205 

Clings  close  and  closer  to  the  mother's  breast, 
So  the  loud  torrent,  and  the  whirlwind's  roar, 
But  bind  him  to  his  native  mountains  more. 

Such  are  the  charms  to  barren  states  assigned; 
Their  wants  but  few,  their  wishes  all  confined.  210 

Yet  let  them  only  share  the  praises  due, 
If  few  their  wants,  their  pleasures  are  but  few; 
For  every  want  that  stimulates  the  breast 
Becomes  a  source  of  pleasure  when  redressed. 

1  Bears  abound  in  Switzerland.    Savage,  as  a  noun,  now  applies  only  to  members  of 
the  human  family. 

2  Every  good  thing  that  his  country  gives  impresses  on  his  heart  a  love  for  that 
country. 

8  His  desires  remain  small  as  his  home 


28  OLIVER    GOLDSMITH. 

Whence  from  sucli  lands  each  pleasing  science  flies,  215 

That  first  excites  desire,  and  then  supplies; 

Unknown  to  them,  when  sensual  pleasures  cloy, 

To  fill  the  languid  pause  with  finer  joy; 

Unknown  those  powers  that  raise  the  soul  to  flame, 

Catch  every  nerve,  and  vibrate  through  the  frame.  220 

Their  level  life  is  but  a  smoldering  fire, 

Unquenched  by  want,  unf anned  by  strong  desire : 

Unfit  for  raptures,  or,  if  raptures  cheer 

On  some  high  festival  of  once  a  year, 

In  wild  excess  the  vulgar  breast  takes  fire,  225 

Till,  buried  in  debauch,  the  bliss  expire. 

Bat  not  their  joys  alone  thus  coarsely  flow: 
Their  morals,  like  their  pleasures,  are  but  low; 
For,  as  refinement  stops,  from  sire  to  son, 
Unaltered,  unimproved,  the  manners  run;  230 

And  love's  and  friendship's  finely-pointed  dart 
Fall  blunted  from  each  indurated1  heart. 
Some  sterner  virtues  o'er  the  mountain's  breast 
May  sit,  like  falcons  cowering  on  the  nest; 
But  all  the  gentler  morals,  such  as  play  235 

Through  life's  more  cultured  walks,  and  charm  the  way, 
These,  far  dispersed,  on  timorous  pinions  fly, 
To  sport  and  flutter  in  a  kinder  sky. 

To  kinder  skies,  where  gentler  manners  reign, 
I  turn;  and  France  displays  her  bright  domain.  240 

Gay  sprightly  land  of  mirth  and  social  ease, 
Pleased  with  thyself,  whom  all  the  world  can  please, 
How  often  have  I  led  thy  sportive  choir, 
With  tuneless  pipe,  beside  the  murmuring  Loire  ? a 
Where  shading  elms  along  the  margin  grew,  245 

And,  freshened  from  the  wave,  the  zephyr  flew ; 
And  haply,3  though  my  harsh  touch  faltering  still, 
But  mocked  all  tune,  and  marred  the  dancer's  skill, 

1  hardened.  2  largest  purely  French  river.  3  perhaps. 


THE    TRAVELER.  29 

Yet  would  the  village  praise  my  wondrous  power, 

And  dance,  forgetful  of  the  noontide  hour.  250 

Alike  all  ages.1     Dames  of  ancient  days 

Have  led  their  children  through  the  mirthful  maze, 

And  the  gay  grandsire,  skilled  in  gestic a  lore, 

Has  frisked  beneath  the  burden  of  threescore. 

So  blest  a  life  these  thoughtless  realms  display,  255 

Thus  idly  busy  rolls  their  world  away: 
Theirs  are  those  arts  that  mind  to  mind  endear, 
For  honor  forms  the  social  temper  here : 
Honor,  that  praise  which  real  merit  gains, 
Or  even  imaginary  worth  obtains,  260 

Here  passes  current;  paid  from  hand  to  hand, 
It  shifts  in  splendid  traffic  round  the  land : 
From  courts  to  camps,  to  cottages  it  strays, 
And  all  are  taught  an  avarice  of  praise ; 

They  please,  are  pleased,  they  give  to  get3  esteem;  265 

Till,  seeming  blest,  they  grow  to  what  they  seem.4 

But  while  this  softer  art  their  bliss  supplies, 
It  gives  their  follies  also  room  to  rise; 
For  praise  too  dearly  loved,  or  warmly  sought, 
Enfeebles  all  internal  strength  of  thought; 5  270 

And  the  weak  soul,  within  itself  unblest, 
Leans  for  all  pleasure  on  another's  breast. 
Hence  ostentation  here,  with  tawdry  art, 
Pants  for  the  vulgar  praise  which'  fools  impart; 
Here  vanity  assumes  her  pert  grimace,  275 

And  trims  her  robes  of  frieze 6  with  copper  lace; 7 
Here  beggar  pride  defrauds  her  daily  cheer, 
To  boast  one  splendid  banquet  once  a  year; 8 

1  People  of  all  ages  are  alike. 

2  an  adjective  for  the  noun  gesture — a  reference  to  the  custom  of  the  French  of  using 
gestures  to  emphasize  their  speech. 

•  They  give  praise  in  order  to  get  it.  4  They  grow  to  be  what  they  seem  to  be. 

6  Those  who  desire  praise  too  much  cannot  do  what  they  think  right  if  that  would 
cause  them  to  lose  it.  •  coarse  woolen  cloth.  7  to  imitate  gold. 

8  starves  all  the  year  for  the  sake  of  one  feast. 


30  OLIVER   GOLDSMITH. 

The  mind  still  turns  where  shifting  fashion  draws, 

Nor  weighs  the  solid  worth  of  self-applause.1  280 

To  men  of  other  minds  my  fancy  flies, 
Embosomed  in  the  deep  where  Holland  lies. 
Methinks  her  patient  sons  before  me  stand, 
Where  the  broad  ocean  leans  against  the  land, 
And,  sedulous2  to  stop  the  coming  tide,  285 

Lift  the  tall  rampire's 3  artificial  pride. 
Onward,  methinks,  and  diligently  slow, 
The  firm  connected  bulwark  seems  to  grow; 
Spreads  its  long  arms  amidst  the  watery  roar, 
Scoops  out  an  empire,  and  usurps  the  shore.  290 

While  the  pent  ocean,  rising  o'er  the  pile, 
Sees  an  amphibious4  world  beneath  him  smile; 
The  slow  canal,  the  yellow  blossomed  vale, 
The  willow  tufted  bank,  the  gliding  sail, 
The  crowded  mart,  the  cultivated  plain,  295 

A  new  creation  rescued  from  his  reign. 

Thus,  while  around  the  wave-subjected  soil 
Impels  the  native  to  repeated  toil, 
Industrious  habits  in  each  bosom  reign, 

And  industry  begets  a  love  of  gain.  300 

Hence  all  the  good  from  opulence  that  springs, 
With  all  those  ills  superfluous  treasure  brings, 
Are  here  displayed.     Their  much-loved  wealth  imparts 
Convenience,  plenty,  elegance,  and  arts; 
But  view  them  closer,  craft  and  fraud  appear,  305 

E'en  liberty  itself  is  bartered  here. 
At  gold's  superior  charms  all  freedom  flies, 
The  needy  sell  it,  and  the  rich  man  buys; 
A  land  of  tyrants,  and  a  den  of  slaves, 

Here  wretches  seek  dishonorable  graves,  310 

And  calmly  bent,  to  servitude  conform, 
Dull  as  their  lakes  that  slumber  in  the  storm. 

1  does  not  see  the  value  of  self -approval.  2  perseveringly  industrious. 

8  rampart  or  bulwark ;  dike.  *  both  of  land  and  of  water. 


THE    TRAVELER.  31 

Heavens!  how  unlike  their  Belgic1  sires  of  old!  • 

Rough,  poor,  content,  ungovernably  bold; 

War  in  each  breast,  and  freedom  on  each  brow;  315 

How  much  unlike  the  sons  of  Britain  now! 

Fired  at  the  sound,  my  genius  spreads  her  wing, 

And  flies  where  Britain  courts  the  western  spring; 

Where  lawns  extend  that  scorn  Arcadian 2  pride, 

And  brighter  streams  than  famed  Hydaspis3  glide.  320 

There  all  around  the  gentlest  breezes  stray, 

There  gentle  music  melts  on  every  spray; 

Creation's  mildest  charms  are  there  combined, 

Extremes4  are  only  in  the  master's  mind! 

Stern  o'er  each  bosom  Eeason  holds  her  state.  325 

With  daring  aims  irregularly  great, 

Pride  in  their  port,6  defiance  in  their  eye, 

I  see  the  lords  of  human  kind  pass  by; 

Intent  on  high  designs,  a  thoughtful  band, 
jBy  forms  unfashioned,6  fresh  from  Nature's  hand,  330 

[Fierce  in  their  native  hardiness  of  soul, 
(True  to  imagined  right,  above  control, 

While  even  the  peasant  boasts  these  rights  to  scan,7 

And  learns  to  venerate  himself  as  man. 

Thine,  Freedom,  thine  the  blessings  pictured  here,          335 

Thine  are  those  charms  that  dazzle  and  endear; 

Too  blest 8  indeed,  were  such  without  alloy, 

But  fostered  even  by  freedom  ills  annoy; 9 

That  independence  Britons  prize 10  too  high, 

1  The  Belgae  included  a  large  number  of  various  tribes  lying  between  the  Seine, 
Marne,  and  Rhine  rivers.    Goldsmith  refers  to  them  as  the  ancestors  of  the  Dutch.    The 
Dutch  and  English  are  brothers,  with  languages  closely  resembling  each  other. 
Arcadia  is  an  imaginary  country  filled  with  beauty  and  happiness. 
Hydaspis  was  a  river  which  was  the  subject  of  many  wild  tales  ;  one  was  that  it  ran 
gold  and  gems.    In  Goldsmith's  time  there  was  a  touch  of  silver  in  the  Thames. 
Extremes  are  only  imaginary ;  there  are  none  in  the  climate, 
deportment.  6  not  controlled  by  formalities, 

boasts  of  his  power  to  criticize  the  government,  etc.;  i.e.,  he  takes  a  part  in  public 
discussions  and  has  a  voice  in  the  making  of  the  laws. 

8  The  people  would  be  too  blest.  *  Even  freedom  creates  some  ills. 

10  That  independence  which  Britons  prize  too  highly. 


32  OLIVER   GOLDSMITH. 

Keeps  man  from  man,  and  breaks  the  social  tie;  340 

The  self-dependent  lordlings  stand  alone, 

All  claims  that  bind  and  sweeten  life  unknown. 

Here,  by  the  bonds  of  nature  feebly  held, 

Minds  combat  minds,  repelling  and  repelled. 

Ferments  arise,  imprisoned  factions  roar,  345 

Kepressed  ambition  struggles  round  her  shore, 

Till  over-wrought,  the  general  system  feels 

Its  motion  stop,  or  frenzy  fire  the  wheels. 

Nor  this  the  worst.1     As  nature's  ties  decay, 
As  duty,  love,  and  honor  fail  to  sway,  350 

Fictitious 2  bonds,  the  bonds  of  wealth  and  law, 
Still  gather  strength,  and  force  unwilling  awe.3 
Hence  all  obedience  bows  to  these  alone, 
And  talent  sinks,  and  merit  weeps  unknown; 
Till  time  may  come,  when,  stript  of  all  her  charms,  355 

The  land  of  scholars,  and  the  nurse  of  arms, 
Where  noble  stems  transmit  the  patriot  flame,4 
Where  kings  have  toiled,  and  poets  wrote  for  fame, 
One  sink  of  level  avarice  shall  lie, 
And  scholars,  soldiers,  kings,  unhonored  die.5  360 

Yet  think  not,  thus  when  freedom's  ills  I  state, 
I  mean  to  flatter  kings,  or  court  the  great; 
Ye  powers  of  truth,  that  bid  my  soul  aspire, 
Far  from  my  bosom  drive  the  low  desire; 
And  thou,  fair  Freedom,  taught  alike  to  feel  365 

The  rabble's  rage,  and  tyrant's  angry  steel; 8 

1  Nor  is  this  the  worst.  2  unnatural. 

3  The  Englishman  is  so  independent  that  he  will  not  obey  his  family,  yet  yields 
to  those  who  have  more  wealth  and  position  than  he,  and  so  loses  his  independence 
after  all. 

4  "  Noble  stems  transmit  the  patriot  flame  "  means  noble  families  teach  love  of  country 
from  father  to  son.    A  family  is  often  likened  to  a  tree. 

6  Goldsmith  thinks  that  if  the  English  people  worship  money  and  title  too  much  they 
will  cease  to  honor  people  of  talent. 

'  A  free  people,  Goldsmith  thinks,  are  always  in  danger  of  being  governed  foolishly 
by  the  excited  ignorant  poor  people,  or  by  some  one  soldier  who  may  become  a  tyrant 
and  take  possession  of  the  government. 


THE    TRAVELER.  33 

Thou  transitory  flower,  alike  undone 

By  proud  contempt  or  favor's  fostering  sun,1 

Still  may  thy  blooms  the  changeful  clime  endure; 

I  only  would  repress  them  to  secure: 2  370 

I  For  just  experience  tells  in  every  soil, 
That  those  who  think  must  govern  those  that  toil; 
And  all  that  freedom's  highest  aims  can  reach, 
Is  but  to  lay  proportioned  loads  on  each. 
Hence,  should  one  order3  disproportioned  grow,  375 

Its  double  weight  must  ruin  all  below. 

0  then  how  blind  to  all  that  truth  requires, 
Who  think  it  freedom  when  a  part  aspires ! 4 
Calm  is  my  soul,  nor  apt  to  rise  in  arms, 

Except  when  fast-approaching  danger  warms:  380 

But  when  contending  chiefs  blockade  the  throne, 

Contracting  regal  power  to  stretch  their  own,5 
/  When  I  behold  a  factious  band  agree 
\  To  call  it  freedom  when  themselves  are  free; 

Each  wanton  judge  new  penal  statutes  draw,  385 

Laws  grind  the  poor,  and  rich  men  rule  the  law; 

The  wealth  of  climes,  where  savage  nations  roam, 

Pillaged  from  slaves  to  purchase  slaves  at  home,6 — 

Fear,  pity,  justice,  indignation  start,7 

Tear  off  reserve,  and  bare  my  swelling  heart;  390 

'Till  half  a  patriot,  half  a  coward  grown, 

1  fly  from  petty  tyrants  to  the  throne. 

1  We  need  to  guard  our  freedom  well,  for  if  we  either  neglect  it  or  boast  of  it,  we  are 
apt  to  lose  it. 

2  As  we  trim  flowers  from  a  plant  to  secure  more  blooms  later,  or  as  a  parent  chides  a 
child  to  make  him  better,  so  Goldsmith  warns  the  English  against  wanting  too  much  free- 
dom, in  order  that  he  may  help  them  to  be  really  free. 

3  if  one  part  of  society  should  grow  too  strong. 

4  How  blind  people  are  to  think  a  whole  nation  is  free  when  only  part  of  the  people 
are  anxious  to  rise! 

6  Goldsmith  objects  to  the  power  of  the  king  being  lessened  if  that  means  more  power 
to  the  nobles. 

*  He  thinks  that  if  rich  men  make  the  Jaws  which  poor  men  must  obey,  then  the  poor 
men  are  really  slaves.  7  They  start  when  all  these  things  happen. 


34:  OLIVER    GOLDSMITH. 

Yes,  brother,  curse  with  me  that  baleful 1  hour, 

When  first  ambition  struck  at  regal  power; a 

And  thus  polluting  honor  in  its  source,3  395 

Gave  wealth  to  sway  the  mind  with  double  force. 

Have  we  not  seen,  round  Briton's  peopled  shore, 
\Iier  useful  sons  exchanged  for  useless  ore? 

Seen  all  her  triumphs  but  destruction  haste, 

Like  flaring  tapers  brightening  as  they  waste;  400 

Seen  opulence,  her  grandeur  to  maintain, 

Lead  stern  depopulation  in  her  train, 

And  over  fields  where  scattered  hamlets  rose, 

In  barren  solitary  pomp  repose  ? 4    » 

Have  we  not  seen  at  pleasure's  lordly  call,  405 

The  smiling  long-frequented  village  fall  ? B 

Beheld  the  duteous  son,  the  sire  decayed, 

The  modest  matron,  and  the  blushing  maid, 

Forced  from  their  homes,  a  melancholy  train, 

To  traverse  climes  beyond  the  western  main;  410 

Where  wild  Oswego 6  spreads  her  swamps  around, 
J  And  Niagara  stuns  with  thundering  sound  ? 

Even  now,  perhaps,  as  there  some  pilgrim  strays 

Through  tangled  forest,  and  through  dangerous  ways; 

Where  beasts  with  man  divided  empire  claim,  415 

And  the  brown  Indian  marks  with  murderous  aim; 

There,  while  above  the  giddy  tempest  flies, 

And  all  around  distressful  yells  arise, 

The  pensive  exile,  bending  with  his  woe, 

To  stop  too  fearful,  and  too  faint  to  go,7  420 

Casts  a  long  look  where  England's  glories  shine, 

And  bids  his  bosom  sympathize  with  mine. 

ill-starred  ;  unfortunate.  2  Possibly  he  has  Oliver  Cromwell  in  mind. 

He  thinks  the  king,  not  the  rich,  should  be  the  source  of  honor. 

seen  opulence  repose  there. 

seen  villages  depopulated  that  the  land  might  be  turned  into  the  pleasure  grounds  of 


the 


wealthy. 

river  flowing  from  Lake  Oneida  to  Lake  Ontario, 
afraid  to  stop,  but  too  weak  to  go  on. 


THE    TKAVELEK.  35 

Vain,  very  vain,  my  weary  search  to  find 
That  bliss  which  only  centers  in  the  mind: 
Why  have  I  strayed  from  pleasure  and  repose,  425 

To  seek  a  good  each  government  bestows? 
In  every  government,  though  terrors  reign, 
Though  tyrant  kings  or  tyrant  laws  restrain, 
How  small,1  of  all  that  human  hearts  endure, 
That  part  which  laws  or  kings  can  cause  or  cure.  430 

Still  to  ourselves  in  every  place  consigned, 
Our  own  felicity8  we  make  or  find; 
With  secret  course,  which  no  loud  storms  annoy, 
Glides  the  smooth  current  of  domestic  joy. 
The  lifted  ax,  the  agonizing  wheel,  435 

Luke's  iron  crown,3  and  DamienV  bed  of  steel, 
To  men  remote  from  power  6  but  rarely  known, 
Leave  reason,  faith,  and  conscience  all  oar  own. 


SUGGESTIONS  FOE  QUESTIONS. 

10.  Why  a  lengthening  chain  ? 

33.  Why  does  he  say  that  he  was  ' '  above  the  storm's  career  "  ? 

47.  What  is  the  "  busy  gale"  doing  ? 

48.  How  are  the  swains  dressing  the  vale  ? 

91.  Are  rich  people  less  contented  than  poor  people  ? 
Are  free  people  less  contented  than  slaves  ? 

92.  What  does  this  line  mean  ? 

1  That  part  of  our  happiness  which  depends  on  anything  outside  of  our  own  souls  is 
small. 

3  happiness. 

3  The  poet  is  in  error.    Two  brothers,  Luke  and  George  Dosa,  engaged  in  a  desperate 
peasant  war  in  Hungary  in  1514.    George,  not  Luke,  suffered  the  torture  of  the  iron 
crown.    The  crown,  heated  red  hot,  was  put  upon  the  head  of  the  victim,  a  punishment 
for  rebels  and  regicides. 

4  executed  in  1757  for  his  attempt  on  the  life  of  Louis  XV.    His  limbs  were  torn  with 
red-hot  pincers. 

5  All  these  terrible  things  are  little  known  to  men  who  are  humble  and  poor. 


36  OLIVER    GOLDSMITH. 

114.  Name  some  fruits  that  ' '  proudly  rise  " ;  name  some  that 
"humbly  court  the  ground." 

116.  How  does  the  year  vary  in  climate  in  the  Torrid  Zone  ? 

119.  Why,  do  you  think,  Goldsmith  calls  the  soil  kindred  to  the 
plants  ? 

120.  What  does  this  line  mean  ? 

122.  How  does  the  wind  ' '  winnow  fragrance  "  ?  What  sort  of 
land  is  a  "  smiling  land  "  ? 

124.  Mention  some  kinds  of  happiness  which  Americans  can 
get  which  are  not  sensual. 

135.  What  does  this  line  mean  ? 

136.  What  does  this  line  mean  ? 

167.  Are  the  Swiss  really  bleak  ?  Are  their  houses  stormy  ? 
What  does  the  line  mean  ? 

174.  Find  what  meteors  are.  Do  you  think  they  are  oftener 
seen  in  Switzerland  than  elsewhere  ? 

181.  Find  an  adjective  in  this  line  used  as  bleak  is  in  line  167. 

221-222.  Try  to  tell  what  these  lines  mean  to  you. 

233-238.  Write  a  paragraph  giving  this  thought  in  your  own 
words. 

251.  What  does  ' '  Dames  of  ancient  days  "  mean  ? 

256.  How  can  a  person  be  "idly  busy  "  ? 

264.  What  is  an  "avarice  of  praise "  ? 

279.  What  is  "  shifting  fashion  "  ? 

282.  Why  does  he  say  that  Holland  is  "embosomed  in  the 
deep"? 

284.  Find  a  pretty  figure  of  speech  in  this  line. 

290.  What  does  "scoops  out  an  empire  "  mean  ? 

297-312.  Does  this  description  agree  with  anything  you  have 
learned  in  geography  or  history  of  the  Dutch  people  ? 

331-332.  Can  you  think  of  any  event  in  American  history 
when  English  people  proved  these  lines  true  ? 

372.  In  the  elections  in  our  country  who  has  a  vote  ? 

398.  Can  you  think  of  any  way  in  which  men  may  be  sacri- 
ficed for  money  without  being  sold  ? 

413-422.  Do  you  think  that  this  is  a  true  picture  of  the  condi- 
tion of  the  colonists  ? 


ELEGY    ON    MRS.    MARY    BLAIZE.  37 

SUGGESTIONS  FOR  COMPOSITIONS. 
(Daily  themes.) 

1.  Describe  Goldsmith's  feelings  while  he  was  writing  this 
poem. 

2.  As  Goldsmith  passes  the  countries  of  the  world  before  his 
imagination,  what  does  he  profess  to  be  looking  for,  and  what  is 
his  real  expectation  about  it  ? 

3.  Give  some  of  the  good  things  that  he  sees  in  Italy;  some  of 
the  bad. 

4.  Give  some  of  the  good  and  bad  features  of  Switzerland. 

5.  Give  the  virtues  and  vices  of  France  as  he  sees  them. 

6.  Give  the  good  and  bad  features  that  he  finds  in  Holland. 

7.  Give  the  good  and  bad  features  that  he  finds  in  England. 
_8.  What  is  Goldsmith's  opinion  about  the  things  which  affect 

real  happiness  ?    Do  you  agree  with  him  or  not  ?    Why  ? 


AN  ELEGY  ON"  THAT  GLOEY  OF  HER  SEX,  MRS. 
MARY  BLAIZE. 

GOOD  people  all,  with  one  accord, 

Lament  for  Madam  Blaize, 
Who  never  wanted  a  good  word — 

From  those  who  spoke  her  praise. 

The  needy  seldom  passed  her  door, 

And  always  found  her  kind; 
She  freely  lent  to  all  the  poor — 

Who  left  a  pledge  behind. 

She  strove  the  neighborhood  to  please, 
With  manners  wondrous  winning; 

And  never  followed  wicked  ways — 
Unless  when  she  was  sinning. 


38  OLIVER    GOLDSMITH. 

At  church,  in  silks  and  satins  new, 
With  hoop  of  monstrous  size; 

She  never  slumbered  in  her  pew — 
But  when  she  shut  her  eyes. 

Her  love  was  sought,  I  do  aver, 
By  twenty  beaux  and  more; 

The  king  himself  had  followed  her — 
When  she  has  walked  before. 

But  now  her  wealth  and  finery  fled, 
Her  hangers-on  cut  short  all; 

The  doctors  found,  when  she  was  dead — 
Her  last  disorder  mortal. 

Let  us  lament,  in  sorrow  sore, 
For  Kent  Street  well  may  say, 

That  had  she  lived  a  twelvemonth  more — 
She  had  not  died  to-day. 


ELEGY  ON  THE  DEATH  OF  A  MAD  DOG. 

GOOD  people  all,  of  every  sort, 

Give  ear  unto  my  song; 
And  if  you  find  it  wondrous  short, — 

It  cannot  hold  you  long. 

In  Islington  there  was  a  man, 

Of  whom  the  world  might  say, 
That  still  a  godly  race  he  ran, — 

Whene'er  he  went  to  pray. 

A  kind  and  gentle  heart  he  had, 

To  comfort  friends  and  foes; 
The  naked  every  day  he  clad, — 

When  he  put  on  his  clothes. 


EPITAPH    ON    EDMUND    BUKKE.  39 

And  in  that  town  a  dog  was  found, 

As  many  dogs  there  be, 
Both  mongrel,  puppy,  whelp,  and  hound, 

And  curs  of  low  degree. 

This  dog  and  man  at  first  were  friends; 

But  when  a  pique  began, 
The  dog,  to  gain  some  private  ends, 

Went  mad,  and  bit  the  man. 

Around  from  all  the  neighboring  streets, 

The  wondering  neighbors  ran, 
And  swore  the  dog  had  lost  his  wits 

To  bite  so  good  a  man. 

The  wound  it  seemed  both  sore  and  sad, 

To  every  Christian  eye; 
And  while  they  swore  the  dog  was  mad, 

They  swore  the  man  would  die. 

But  soon  a  wonder  came  to  light, 
That  showed  the  rogues  they  lied; 

The  man  recovered  of  the  bite, 

The  dog  it  was  that  died.  % 

EPITAPH  ON  EDMUND   BCJEKE. 

HERE  lies  our  good  Edmund,  whose  genius  was  such, 
We  scarcely  can  praise  it,  or  blame  it  too  much; 

I  Who,  born  for  the  universe,  narrowed  his  mind, 
And  to  party  gave  up  what  was  meant  for  mankind. 
Though  fraught  with  all  learning,  yet  straining  his  throat 
To  persuade  Tommy  Townshend  to  lend  him  a  vote. 


THOMAS    GRAY. 

THE  poet  Thomas  Gray  combined  a  great  love  and  knowledge 
of  literature  and  art  with  an  almost  equal  fondness  for  nature  and 
natural  sciences.  He  was,  in  fact,  one  of  the  most  accomplished 
men  of  his  times. 

He  was  born  in  London  in  the  early  part  of  the  eighteenth  cen- 
tury (1716),  of  middle-class  parents.  His  father  was  a  man  of 
violent  temper,  who  took  little  interest  in  his  son's  up-bringing  or 
welfare ;  but  his  mother,  though  forced  to  earn  her  son's  living  at 
millinery,  early  appreciated  his  abilities  and  contrived  to  have 
him  educated  first  at  the  great  Eton  school,  and  then  at  Cam- 
bridge University.  Eton  is  yet  so  proud  of  her  son  Thomas  Gray 
that  each  graduate  of  the  school  is  presented,  at  his  departure, 
with  a  copy  of  Gray's  works,  and  Cambridge  honored  him  by 
giving  him  the  chair  of  Modern  Literature  and  Modern  Languages. 

There  seemed  no  branch  of  knowledge  which  he  did  not  easily 
master,  except  mathematics,  which  he  detested,  and  could  not  be 
induced  to  study.  Sir  Thomas  Mackintosh  said  of  him,  "  He  was 
the  first  discoverer  of  the  beauties  of  nature  in  England, "  and  his 
letters  to  his  literary  friends,  written  while  traveling  through 
England  and  Scotland,  prove  him  a  worthy  "  pioneer  of  Words- 
worth," the  foremost  of  the  Lake  Poets. 

He  lived  for  many  years  at  Cambridge  in  a  college  room  fitted 
up  daintily  with  plants  and  ornaments,  but  he  was  so  quiet,  re- 
served, and  shy  that  he  made  few- friends,  and  dreaded  the  gaze 
of  strangers.  He  never  married.  He  died  in  1771. 

His  fame  as  a  writer  rests  upon  a  few  poems — none  of  them  of 
any  great  length.  His  ode  on  a  distant  prospect  of  Eton  contains 
fine  bits  of  description  and  much  of  the  philosophy  of  life,  but 
his  "Elegy  Written  in  a  Country  Churchyard"  is  undoubtedly 
his  masterpiece,  and  to  the  present  day  maintains  a  high  position 
among  the  English  classics.  For  musical  harmony  and  pathetic 
sentiment  it  stands  as  one  of  the  most  perfect  of  English  poems . 


4:2  THOMAS   GRAY. 

ELEGY 

WRITTEN  IN   A   COUNTRY   CHURCHYARD. 

[Thomas  Gray,  like  the  true  poet  that  he  was,  could  never  write 
except  when  inspired  by  some  particular  circumstances.  He 
began  the  "  Elegy  Written  in  a  Country  Churchyard  "  in  1742,  at 
the  time  of  the  death  of  a  near  relative,  and  added  to  it  on  several 
such  occasions,  until  it  was  finished  seven  years  after  it  was  begun. 
He  had  a  notion  that  it  was  beneath  him  to  receive  money  for 
anything  that  he  wrote,  and  consequently  his  publisher  received 
the  £1,000  which  came  from  the  "Elegy."  This  poem  has  been 
translated  into  many  languages.] 

1.  THE  curfew1  tolls  the  knell  of  parting  day, 

The  lowing  herd  winds 2  slowly  o'er  the  lea,3 
The  plowman  homeward  plods  his  weary  way, 
And  leaves  the  world  to  darkness  and  to  me. 

2.  Now  fades  the  glimmering  landscape  on  the  sight, 

And  all  the  air  a  solemn  stillness  holds, 
Save  where  the  beetle  wheels  his  droning4  flight, 
And  drowsy  tinkliugs  lull  the  distant  folds; B 

3.  Save  that,  from  yonder  ivy-mantled  tow^ir, 

The  moping  owl  does  to  the  moon  complain 
Of  such  as,  wandering  near  her  secret  bower, 
Molest  her  ancient  solitary  reign.6 

4.  Beneath  those  rugged  elms,  that  yew-tree's  shade, 

Where  heaves  the  turf  in  many  a  moldering  heap, 
Each  in  his  narrow  cell  for  ever  laid, 

The  rude7  forefathers  of  the  hamlet  sleep.8 

1  Fire-cover.  At  the  ringing  of  the  curfew-bell  all  household  fires  were  to  be  put  out 
for  the  night.  The  custom  was  introduced  into  England  by  the  Norman  conquerors  as  a 
safeguard  against  fire.  2  wends  its  way  ;  moves  in  a  curving  path.  s  meadow. 

4  making  a  dull  humming  sound.     6  flocks.      6  realm.      7  poor,  of  the  peasant  class. 

8  The  well-to-do  were  interred  inside  the  church,  and  the  poorer  people  in  the  church- 
yard. Gray  is  thinking  of  the  latter  class. 


ELEGY.  43 

5.  The  breezy  call  of  incense-breathing1  Morn, 

The  swallow  twittering  from  the  straw-built  shed, 
The  cock's  shrill  clarion,  or  the  echoing  horn, 
~No  more  shall  rouse  them  from  their  lowly  bed. 

6.  For  them  no  more  the  blazing  hearth  shall  burn, 

Or  busy  housewife  ply2  her  evening  care; 
No  children  run  to  lisp  their  sire's  return, 
Or  climb  his  knee  the  envied  kiss  to  share. 

7.  Oft  did  the  harvest  to  their  sickle  yield, 

Their  furrow  oft  the  stubborn  glebe3  has  broke; 
How  jocund  *  did  they  drive  their  team  afield! 

How  bowed  the  woods  beneath  their  sturdy  stroke! 

8.  Let  not  Ambition 6  mock  their  useful  toil, 

Their  homely  joys,  and  destiny  obscure; 
Nor  Grandeur6  hear  with  a  disdainful  smile 
The  short  and  simple  annals 7  of  the  poor. 

9.  The  boast  of  heraldry,8  the  pomp  of  pow'r, 

And  all  that  beauty,  all  that  wealth  e'er  gave, 
Await  alike  th'  inevitable  hour.9 

The  paths  of  glory  lead  but  to  the  grave. 

10.  Nor  you,  ye  Proud,  impute  to  these  the  fault, 
If  Memory  o'er  their  tomb  no  trophies  raise, 
Where  through  the  long-drawn  isle  and  fretted  vault 10 
The  pealing  anthem  swells  the  note  of  praise. 

1  sweet  smelling.  2  attend  to.  3  soil;  ground. 

4  here  an  adverb,  meaning  cheerfully. 

6  here  those  who  would  like  to  be  of  a  higher  class. 

6  here  those  who  are  of  a  higher  class. 

T  chronicles  ;  history. 

8  of  the  noble  ancestry  recorded  in  the  College  of  Heralds  ;  of  the  coat  of  arms  and 
shield  telling  of  the  deeds  of  some  brave  ancestor. 

9  death. 

10  vault  in  an  arched  roof  ;  fretted,  ornamented  with  slats  intersecting  each  other  at 
right  angles. 


44  THOMAS    GRAY. 

11.  Can  storied  urn,1  or  animated  bust, 

Back  to  its  mansion  call  the  fleeting  breath  ? 
Can  Honor's  voice  provoke 2  the  silent  dust, 
Or  Flattery  soothe  the  dull  cold  ear  of  Death  ? 

12.  Perhaps  in  this  neglected  spot  is  laid 

Some  heart  once  pregnant  with  celestial  fire; 3 
Hands,  that  the  rod  of  empire  might  have  swayed,4 
Or  waked  to  ecstasy  the  living  lyre.5 

13.  But  Knowledge  to  their  eyes  her  ample  page 

Eich  with  the  spoils  of  time  did  ne'er  unroll; 
Chill  Penury  6  repressed  their  noble  rage, 
And  froze  the  genial  current 7  of  the  soul. 

14.  Full  many  a  gem  of  purest  ray  serene 

The  dark  unfathomed  caves  of  ocean  bear: 
Full  many  a  flower  is  born  to  blush  unseen, 
And  waste  its  sweetness  on  the  desert  air. 

15.  Some  village  Hampden,8  that,  with  dauntless  breast, 

The  little  Tyrant  of  his  fields  withstood, 
Some  mute  inglorious  Milton 9  here  may  rest, 
Some  Cromwell 10  guiltless  of  his  country's  blood. 

1  a  vessel  for  holding  the  ashes  of  the  dead. 

2  call  to  life  again. 

8  filled  with  heavenly  inspiration. 

4  hands  that  might  have  swayed  the  rod  of  empire ;  abilities  that  might  have  been 
powerful  to  govern. 

5  hands  that  might  have  waked  the  living  lyre  to  ecstasy ;  abilities  that  might  have 
roused  some  human  hearts. 

6  poverty  ;  want  of  resources. 

7  stopped  the  generous  impulses. 

8  In   1636  John  Hampden  of  Buckinghamshire  refused  to  pay  the  ship-money  tax 
imposed  by  Charles  I.    Hampden  withstood  the  tyrant  king. 

9  John  Milton,  noted  poet  and  statesman  (1608-1674). 

1  °  Oliver  Cromwell  was  the  leader  of  the  parliamentary  army  that  finally  overthrew  the 
king's  power  and  brought  him  to  death  on  the  scaffold.  This  line  indicates  the  strong 
prejudice  that  existed  against  Cromwell  in  the  eighteenth  century. 


ELEGY.  45 

16.  The  applause  of  listening  senates  to  command,1 

The  threats  of  pain  and  ruin  to  despise, 
To  scatter  plenty  o'er  a  smiling  land, 
And  read  their  history  in  a  nation's  eyes, 

17.  Their  lot  forbade :  nor  circumscribed  alone 


but  their  crimes  confined^ 
Forbade  to  wade  through  slaughter2  to  a  throne, 
And  shut  the  gates  of  mercy  on  mankind, 

18.  The  struggling  pangs  of  conscious  truth  to  hide, 

To  quench  the  blushes  of  ingenuous  shame, 
Or  heap  the  shrine  of  Luxury  and  Pride 
With  incense  kindled  at  the  Muse's  flame. 

19.  Far  from  the  madding3  crowd's  ignoble  strife, 

Their  sober  wishes  never  learned  to  stray; 
Along  the  cool  sequestered  vale  of  life 

They  kept  the  noiseless  tenor  of  their  way. 

20.  Yet  even  these  bones  from  insult  to  protect 

Some  frail  memorial  still  erected  nigh, 
With  uncouth  rhymes  and  shapeless  sculpture  decked, 
Implores  the  passing  tribute  of  a  sigh. 

21.  Their  name,  their  years,  spelt  by  th'  unlettered  Muse,4 

The  place  of  fame  and  elegy  supply: 

And  many  a  holy  text  around  she  strews, 

That  teach  the  rustic  moralist  to  die. 

22.  For  who,  to  dumb  Forgetfulness  a  prey, 

This  pleasing  anxious  being  e'er  resigned,6 

1  The  age  was  one  of  oratory.    The  elder  Pitt  was  already  famous  at  the  time  the 
poem  was  published. 

2  to  reach  a  throne  by  warfare.  3  raging,  furious.  4  poet. 
6  who,  when  resigning  his  life  here,  reconciled  himself  to  being  forgotten. 


46  THOMAS  GRAY. 

Left  the  warm  precincts  of  the  cheerful  day, 
Nor  cast  one  longing  ling'ring  look  behind  ? 

23.  On  some  fond  breast  the  parting  soul  relies/ 

Some  pious  drops  the  closing  eye  requires; 
Ev'n  from  the  tomb  the  voice  of  Nature  cries, 
Ev'n  in  our  ashes  live  their  wonted  fires. 

24.  For  thee,  who  mindful  of  the  unhonored  Dead 

Dost  in  these  lines  their  artless  tales  relate, 
If  chance,  by  lonely  Contemplation  led, 
Some  kindred  spirit  shall  inquire  thy  fate, 

25.  Haply  some  hoary-headed  swain  may  say, 

"  Oft  have  we  seen  him  at  the  peep  of  dawn 
Brushing  with  hasty  steps  the  dews  away, 
To  meet  the  sun  upon  the  upland  lawn. 

26.  "  There  at  the  foot  of  yonder  nodding  beech, 

That  wreathes  its  old  fantastic a  roots  so  high, 
His  listless  length  at  noontide  would  he  stretch, 
And  pore  upon  the  brook  that  babbles  by. 

27.  "  Hard  by  yon  wood,  now  smiling  as  in  scorn, 

Muttering  his  wayward  fancies  he  would  rove; 
Now  drooping,  woeful  wan,  like  one  forlorn, 
Or  crazed  with  care,  or  crossed  in  hopeless  love. 

28.  "One  morn  I  missed  him  on  the  customed  hill, 

Along  the  heath  and  near  his  favorite  tree; 
Another  came;  nor  yet  beside  the  rill, 
Nor  up  the  lawn,  nor  at  the  wood  was  he; 

1  The  poet  now  answers  the  question  of  the  preceding  stanza.    While  a  spark  of  life 
remains  we  crave  remembrance.    We  hope  that  when  we  are  turned  to  dust  we  may 
still  be  remembered. 

2  growing  into  strange,  odd  shapes. 


ELEGY.  47 

29.  "  The  next,  with  dirges  due  in  sad  array 

Slow  through  the  church-way *  path  we  saw  him  borne. — 
Approach  and  read  (for  thou  canst  read 2)  the  lay 3 
Graved  on  the  stone  beneath  yon  aged  thorn/' 


THE   EPITAPH. 

30.  Here  rests  his  head  upon  the  lap  of  Earth, 

A  youth  to  Fortune  and  to  Fame  unknown: 
Fair  Science  frowned  not  on  his  humble  birth,4 
And  Melancholy  marked  him  for  her  own. 

31. .  Large  was  his  bounty,  and  his  soul  sincere, 
Heaven  did  a  recompense  as  largely  send : 
He  gave  to  Misery  all  he  had,  a  tear, 

He  gained  from  Heaven  ('twas  all  he  wished)  a  friend. 

32.  No  farther  seek  his  merits  to  disclose, 

Or  draw  his  frailties  from  their  dread  abode, 
(There  they  alike  in  trembling  hope  repose,) 
The  bosom  of  his  Father  and  his  God. 


QUESTIONS  ON  THE  ELEGY. 

1.  With  whom  does  Gray  sympathize  in  this  poem  ? 

2.  What  classes  of  people  does  he  reprove  ? 

3.  Of  what  does  he  remind  all  classes  ? 

4.  Does  he  think  it  the  fault  of  these  poor  village  people  that 
they  were  not  great  and  famous  ? 

5.  To  what  does  he  attribute  their  lowly  lives  ? 

6.  Find  some  sentiments  in  which  he  agrees  with  Goldsmith. 

1  churchward  ;  along  the  path  toward  the  church. 

2  Reading  was  not  such  a  common  accomplishment  as  to  be  taken  for  granted. 

3  here  inscription. 

4  The  poet  is  thinking  of  himself  in  these  closing  lines. 


48  THOMAS    GRAY. 


SUGGESTIONS  FOR  COMPOSITION  WORK. 

1.  Write  a  paragraph  describing  the  parting  day  and  the  vil- 
lage churchyard. 

2.  Write  a  paragraph  explaining  the  application  of  the  four- 
teenth stanza  to  the  twelfth  and  thirteenth. 

3.  What  is  meant  by  the  last  two  lines  of  the  nineteenth  stanza  ? 

4.  Write  in  prose  the  meaning  of  the  epitaph. 


SUGGESTIONS  FOR  MEMORY  WORK. 

Memorize  the  first  four  stanzas. 

Memorize  the  ninth  stanza. 

Memorize  the  eleventh  stanza. 

Memorize  the  fourteenth  stanza. 

Memorize  the  twenty-second  and  twenty-third  stanzas. 


ON  A  DISTANT  PROSPECT  OF  ETON  COLLEGE. 

YE  distant  spires,  ye  antique  towers, 

That  crown  the  watery  glade, 
Where  grateful  Science  still  adores 

Her  Henry's  holy  shade  ; 
And  ye,  that  from  the  stately  brow 
Of  Windsor's  heights  the  expanse  below 

Of  grove,  of  lawn,  of  mead  survey  ; 
Whose  turf,  whose  shade,  whose  flowers  among 
Wanders  the  hoary  Thames  along 

His  silver-winding  way, 

Ah  happy  hills  !  ah  pleasing  shade  ! 

Ah  fields  beloved  in  vain, 
Where  once  my  careless  childhood  strayed 

A  stranger  yet  to  pain  ! 


ON    A    DISTANT    PKOSPECT   OF   ETON    COLLEGE.  49 

I  feel  the  gales  that  from  ye  blow 
A  momentary  bliss  bestow, 

As  waving  fresh  their  gladsome  wing, 
My  weary  soul  they  seem  to  soothe, 
And,  redolent  of  joy  and  youth, 

To  breathe  a  second  spring. 


Say,  Father  Thames,  for  thou  hast  seen 

Full  many  a  sprightly  race, 
Disporting  on  thy  margent  green, 

The  paths  of  pleasure  trace, 
Who  foremost  now  delight  to  cleave 
With  pliant  arm  thy  glassy  wave  ? 

The  captive  linnet  which  enthral  ? 
What  idle  progeny  succeed 
To  chase  the  rolling  circle's  speed, 

Or  urge  the  flying  ball  ? 

While  some  on  earnest  business  bent 

Their  murmuring  labors  ply 
'Gainst  graver  hours,  that  bring  constraint 

To  sweeten  liberty  : 
Some  bold  adventurers  disdain 
The  limits  of  their  little  reign, 

And  unknown  regions  dare  descry : 
Still  as  they  run  they  look  behind, 
They  hear  a  voice  in  every  wind, 

And  snatch  a  fearful  joy. 


Gay  hope  is  theirs,  by  fancy  fed, 
Less  pleasing  when  possessed  ; 

The  tear  forgot  as  soon  as  shed, 
The  sunshine  of  the  breast : 


50  THOMAS    GRAY. 

Theirs  buxom  health  of  rosy  hue, 
Wild  wit,  invention  ever  new, 

And  lively  cheer  of  vigor  born  ; 
The  thoughtless  day,  the  easy  night, 
The  spirits  pure,  the  slumbers  light, 

That  fly  the  approach  of  morn. 


WILLIAM  COLLINS. 

WILLIAM  COLLINS  was  born  on  Christmas  Day,  in  the  year  1720. 
His  father  was  a  hatter,  not  very  well  off,  but  of  a  good  reputation. 

Collins  had  a  college  education  and  improved  himself  by  much 
reading  and  study.  He  knew  not  only  thw-ancitii I ' Idiig usges]* 
Greek  and  Latin,  but  also  French,  Italian,  and  Spanish. 

When  a  very  young  man,  he  was  poor  and  ambitious,  but  he 
planned  much  better  than  he  accomplished.  He  proposed  to  write 
a  history,  a  tragedy,  a  translation ;  but  only  a  few  short  odes  and 
poems  were  ever  written.  These  show  that  he  had  an  imagination 
that  delighted  in  fairies,  genii,  giants,  and  all  strange  creations  of 
the  fancy. 

Before  Collins  had  a  chance  either  to  succeed  or  fail  in  a  liter- 
ary career,  he  inherited  about  ten  thousand  dollars  from  an  uncle 
— a  fortunate  occurrence,  for  soon  afterward  the  poet's  health, 
both  of  mind  and  body,  failed,  so  that  hard  work  was  impossible 
for  him.  He  was  not  violently  insane,  but  his  mind  was  so  much 
affected  that  he  was  at  one  time  placed  in  an  asylum.  He  was 
conscious  of  his  own  infirmity,  and  tried  at  first  to  forget  his 
trouble  in  travel  or  to  drown  it  in  drink.  Finally,  he  acknowl- 
edged himself  an  invalid,  and  went  to  live  with  his  sister,  who 
cared  for  him  until  he  died  at  the  early  age  of  thirty-six. 

Collins's  odes  were  not  successful  during  his  life.  His  pub- 
lishers lost  money  by  them,  and  poor  Collins  made  up  the  loss  to 
them  and  threw  the  unused  copies  into  the  fire.  Within  a  gener- 
ation after  the  death  of  their  author,  however,  the  odes  were  ac- 
knowledged to  be  among  the  best  of  their  kind  in  the  language, 
and  they  are  still  admired  by  all  who  like  imaginative  poetry. 


52  WILLIAM   COLLINS. 


THE  PASSIONS. 

[Music  is  supposed  to  be  a  goddess  who  lived  in  Greece,  and 
who  sang  and  played  very  beautifully.  She  kept  musical  instru- 
ments hanging  round  her  on  myrtle  trees.  The  Passions  —  the 
various  feelings  of  man,  such  as  Fear,  Anger,  Despair,  and  Hope 
—  are  all  personified  also.  They  are  male  or  female,  according  to 
their  nature.  They  are  all  excited  by  Music,  and  so  taking  her 
instruments,  they  all  show  their  skill,  each  in  a  characteristic  way. 
As  there  never  was  such  a  concert  in  reality,  Collins  felt  at  liberty 
to  make  his  personified  Passions  do  anything  he  pleased,  and  you 
will  find  them  showing  forth  their  natures  without  any  regard  for 
appearances  —  for  "Madness  ruled  the  hour."] 


Music,  heavenly  maid,  was  young, 
While  yet  in  early  Greece  she  sung, 
The  Passions  oft,  to  hear  her  shell,1 
Thronged  around  her  magic  cell,  — 
Exulting,  trembling,  raging,  fainting, 
Possessed  beyond  the  Muse's  a  painting; 
By  turns  they  felt  the  glowing  mind 
Disturbed,  delighted,  raised,  refined: 
Till  once,  His  said,  when  all  were  fired, 
Filled  with  fury,  rapt,  inspired, 
From  the  supporting  myrtles  round 
They  snatched  her  instruments  of  sound; 
And,  as  they  oft  had  heard  apart 
Sweet  lessons  of  her  forceful  art, 
Each  —  for  Madness  ruled  the  hour  — 
Would  prove  his  own  expressive  power. 

First  Fear,  his  hand,  its  skill  to  try, 
Amid  the  chords  bewildered  laid; 

And  back  recoiled,  he  knew  not  why, 
E'en  at  the  sound  himself  had  made. 

i  She  blew  a  shell. 

a  The  Muse  is  the  spirit  of  poetry.    No  poet  can  describe  how  excited  they  were. 


THE    PASSIONS.  53 

Next  Anger  rushed — his  eyes  on  fire, 

In  lightnings  owned  his  secret  stings: 
In  one  rude  clash  he  struck  the  lyre, 

And  swept,  with  hurried  hand,  the  strings. 
With  woeful  measures,  wan  Despair — 

Low  sullen  sounds! — his  grief  beguiled; 
A  solemn,  strange,  and  mingled  air; 

'Twas  sad,  by  fits — by  starts,  'twas  wild. 

But  thou,  0  Hope!  with  eyes  so  fair, 

What  was  thy  delighted  measure  ? 

Still  it  whispered  promised  pleasure, 
And  bade  the  lovely  scenes  at  distance1  haili 

Still  would  her  touch  the  strain  prolong; 
And  from  the  rocks,  the  woods,  the  vale, 

She  called  on  Echo  still,  through  all  her  gong; 
And  where  her  sweetest  theme  she  chose, 
A  soft  responsive  voice  was  heard  at  every  close; 
And  Hope,  enchanted,  smiled,  and  waved  her  golden  hair. 

And  longer  had  she  sung — but  with  a  frown, 

Eevenge  impatient  rose. 
He  threw  his  blood-stained  sword  in  thunder  down; 

And  with  a  withering  look, 

The  war-denouncing  trumpet  took, 
And  blew  a  blast  so  loud  and  dread, 

Were  ne'er  prophetic  sounds  so  full  of  woes; 2 

And  ever  and  anon,  he  beat 

The  doubling  drum  with  furious  heat; 
And  though,  sometimes,  each  dreary  pause  between,, 

Dejected  Pity,  at  his  side, 

Her  soul-subduing  voice  applied, 

1  hailed  the  lovely  scenes  in  the  future— hoped  for. 

2  There  never  were  prophetic  sounds  which  were  so  full  of  woes. 


54  WILLIAM    COLLINS. 

Yet  still  he  kept  his  wild  unaltered  mien, 

While  each  strained  ball  of  sight  seemed  bursting  from  his 
head. 

Thy  numbers,  Jealousy,  to  naught  were  fixed — 

Sad  proof 1  of  thy  distressful  state ! 
Of  differing  themes  the  veering  song  was  mixed; 
And  now  it  courted  Love — now,  raving,  called  on  Hate. 
With  eyes  upraised,  as  one  inspired, 
Pale  Melancholy  sat  retired, 
And  from  her  wild,  sequestered  seat, 
In  notes  by  distance  made  more  sweet, 
Poured  through  the  mellow  horn  her  pensive  soul; 
And  dashing  soft  from  rocks  around, 
Bubbling  runnels  joined  the  sound; 
Through  glares  and  glooms  the  mingled  measure  stole, 
Or  o'er  some  haunted  streams,  with  fond  delay, 
Eound  a  holy  calm  diffusing, 
Love  of  peace,  and  lonely  musing, 
In  hollow  murmurs  died  away. 

But,  oh!  how  altered  was  its  sprightlier  tone, 

When  Cheerfulness,  a  nymph  of  healthiest  hue, 
Her  bow  across  her  shoulder  flung, 

Her  buskins  gemmed  with  morning  dew, 

Blew  an  inspiring  air,  that  dale  and  thicket  rung, — 
The  hunter's  call,  to  Faun  and  Dryad  known ! 

The  oak-crowned  sisters,  and  their  chaste-eyed  queen, 

Satyrs,  and  sylvan  boys  were  seen, 

Peeping  from  forth  their  alleys  green : 
Brown  Exercise  rejoiced  to  hear; 
And  Sport  leaped  up,  and  seized  the  beechen  spear. 

1  Jealousy  played  no  fixed  tune.    Jealous  people  both  love  and  hate  the  person  about 
whom  they  feel  jealous. 


HOW    SLEEP    THE   BRAVE.  55 

Last  came  Joy's  ecstatic  trial: 

He,  with  viny  crown,  advancing, 
First,  to  the  lively  pipe  his  hand  addressed; 

But  soon  he  saw  the  brisk  awakening  viol,1 
Whose  sweet  entrancing  voice  he  loved  the  best. 
They  would  have  thought,  who  heard  the  strain, 

They  saw  in  Tempers  vale  her  native  maids, 
Amid  the  festal-sounding  shades, 

To  some  unwearied  minstrel  dancing; 

While,  as  his  flying  fingers  kissed  the  strings, 
Love  framed  with  Mirth  a  gay  fantastic  round  ; 2 
Loose  were  her  tresses  seen,  her  zone  unbound; 
And  he,  amid  his  frolic  play, 
As  if  he  would  the  charming  air  repay, 

Shook  thousand  odors  from  his  dewy  wings. 


HOW   SLEEP   THE   BKAVE. 

How  sleep  the  brave,  who  sink  to  rest, 
By  all  their  country's  wishes  blest! 
When  Spring,  with  dewy  fingers  cold, 
Eeturns  to  deck  their  hallowed  mold, 
She  there  shall  dress  a  sweeter  sod 
Than  Fancy's  feet  have  ever  trod. 

By  fairy  hands  their  knell  is  rung; 
By  forms  unseen  their  dirge  is  sung; 
There  Honor  comes,  a  pilgrim  gray, 
To  bless  the  turf  that  wraps  their  clay; 
And  Freedom  shall  a  while  repair, 
To  dwell,  a  weeping  hermit,  there. 

1  the  viol  that  awakens— makes  people  lively. 

2  They  danced  together. 
5 


ROBERT  BURNS. 


"ROBERT  BURNS  was  a  plowman  and  the  son  of  a  plowman. 
He  was  born  (in  1759)  in  a  clay  cottage  built  by  his  father.  It 
consisted  of  a  kitchen  in  one  end,  and  a  room  in  the  other,  with 
a  fireplace  and  a  chimney,  and  there  was  a  concealed  bed  in  the 
kitchen,  with  a  small  closet  at  the  end ;  and  when  altogether  cast 
over  (whitewashed)  inside  and  outside  with  lime,  it  had  a  neat 
and  comfortable  appearance." 

His  parents  were  honest,  industrious,  and  intelligent,  but  not  well 
educated.  He  went  to  school  when  a  very  little  boy,  and  studied 
the  spelling-book,  the  Bible,  a  collection  of  poems,  and  an  English 
grammar.  His  teacher  made  him  learn  the  poems  by  heart,  and 
write  out  the  meanings  of  the  stanzas  in  prose.  His  love  of  learn- 
ing prompted  him  to  read  the  few  books  his  father  possessed. 
Among  these  was  a  "Select  Collection  of  English  Songs."  To 
quote  his  own  words,  1 1 1  pored  over  them,  driving  my  cart  or 
walking  to  labor,  song  by  song,  verse  by  verse,  carefully  noting 
the  true,  tender,  or  sublime  from  affectation  and  fustian.  I  am 
convinced  that  I  owe  to  this  practice  much  of  my  critic  craft, 
such  as  it  is."  He  used  even  to  eat  his  meals  book  in  hand.  He 
sharpened  his  wits  at  a  little  village  debating  society,  and  it  is  said 
that  he  once  won  in  a  debate  with  his  schoolmaster  in  the  presence 
of  the  school. 

He  very  early  in  life  had  love  affairs.  He  says  of  himself, 
"  My  heart  was  completely  tinder,  and  was  eternally  lighted  up 
by  some  goddess  or  other."  And  so  among  his  first  attempts  at 
writing  are  poems  of  love. 

Among  the  earliest  books  that  he  read  were  a  life  of  Hannibal 
and  a  life  of  Wallace,  and  inspired  by  them  he  began  to  write 
patriotic  verses. 

When  still  a  young  man,  he  left  the  farm  and  went  to  a  sea- 
port town  to  learn  the  trade  of  flax  dresser.  He  did  not  prosper 


58  ROBERT   BURNS. 

at  the  trade,  but  he  learned  wild  ways  from  the  sailors  who  fre- 
quented the  town,  and  he  wrote  some  poems  in  which  he  bragged 
of  his  own  vice  in  a  reckless  way,  and  others  in  which  he  showed 
how  wretched  it  made  him  to  have  done  wrong. 

A  dispute  arising  in  the  church,  Burns  applied  his  art  of  verse- 
writing  and  his  skill  in  disputation  to  the  subject.  He  wrote 
several  sarcastic  poems  that  amazed  the  good  church  people  by 
their  cleverness  and  their  boldness. 

Burns  had  two  very  serious  love  affairs,  and,  it  is  sad  to  relate, 
indulged  in  both  of  them  at  the  same  time.  One  of  his  lady  loves 
was  Jean,  a  village  maiden  whose  acquaintance  he  made  at  a 
dance,  and  who  finally  became  his  wife ;  the  other  was  Highland 
Mary,  "a  sprightly,  blue-eyed  creature,"  who  comforted  him 
during  a  period  when  he  was  at  odds  with  his  Jean,  and  whom 
also  he  promised  to  marry.  But  she  died  before  the  promise  could 
be  fulfilled.  His  poems  are  full  of  allusions  to  these  love  affairs. 

All  this  time  he  was  wretchedly  poor,  and  he  even  thought, 
like  Goldsmith,  of  emigrating  to  America  ;  but  finally  his  poems 
were  published,  and  their  merit  recognized,  so  that  he  was  brought 
to  Edinburgh,  introduced  to  literary  people,  and  to  society  very 
superior  to  what  he  was  used  to ;  he  even  dined  with  a  lord,  and 
wrote  a  humorous  poem  about  it : 

"  I  sidling  shelter'd  in  a  nook, 
And  at  his  Lordship  stealt  a  look, 

Like  some  portentous  omen; 
Except  good  sense  and  social  glee, 
And  (what  surprised  me)  modesty, 

I  markit  nought  uncommon." 

In  Edinburgh  he  was  much  petted ;  his  portrait  was  painted, 
and  several  pen-portraits  were  made  of  him,  so  that  we  know  him 
to  have  been  a  large  man,  with  a  slight  stoop  caused  by  following 
the  plow,  with  brilliant  eyes,  and  a  very  simple,  modest  manner 
— neither  awkward  nor  pretentious. 

He  finally  returned  to  country  life,  marrying  his  Jean,  who, 
he  says,  had  "placid  good-nature,  vigorous  health,"  and  "a more 
than  commonly  handsome  figure."  He  went  to  farming,  at  which 
he  did  not  succeed  very  well,  and  later  got  a  place  as  exciseman. 


59 

He  worked  hard,  drank  heavily,  and  occasionally  found  time  to 
write  verses,  which,  as  his  mood  varied,  were  sometimes  gay, 
sometimes  sad. 

He  was  now,  as  he  had  always  heen,  energetic,  kind-hearted,  and 
indiscreet.  A  story  is  told  of  him  as  exciseman  which  illustrates 
all  these  qualities.  It  was  his  business  to  see  that  no  one  sold 
liquor  without  a  license.  A  poor  woman  whom  he  knew  to  be 
breaking  the  law  was  startled  one  morning  by  his  sudden  appear- 
ance, with,  "  Kate,  are  you  mad  ?  Don't  you  know  that  the  super- 
visor and  I  will  be  in  upon  you  in  forty  minutes  ? "  Of  course, 
when  they  came,  there  was  no  strong  drink  about. 

In  1796  Burns  died  from  a  cold  taken  while  under  the  influence 
of  liquor.  He  showed  courage  in  facing  death,  great  distress  at 
leaving  his  family  poor,  and  regret  at  not  having  destroyed  many 
of  his  poems  which  were  struck  off  in  the  heat  of  the  moment  and 
which  he  felt  did  not  express  his  best  sentiments. 

He  is  a  poet  much  loved  by  the  Scotch  and  by  the  plain  people 
everywhere.  His  writings  show  what  genius  can  do  for  a  man 
who  lacks  thorough  education  and  culture.  But  they  also  show 
how  lack  of  refinement  and  of  steadfast  high  principle  can  injure 
a  man  of  genius.  Not  all  of  his  poems  are  fit  to  read,  but  some  of 
them  are  among  the  most  admired  and  popular  poems  in  the  lan- 
guage. 

THE  COTTER'S  SATURDAY  NIGHT. 

[Burns  was  the  son  of  a  poor  Scotch  farmer,  and,  when  his 
father  died,  became  the  head  of  the  family  and  a  farmer  himself. 
The  father  used  to  have  family  prayers  every  night,  and  after  his 
death  Robert,  although  often  a  wild  lad,  and  sometimes  given  to 
railing  at  religious  forms,  used  to  conduct  family  worship  just  as 
his  father  did.  He  used  to  say  to  his  brother  that  he  thought 
there  was  something  peculiarly  beautiful  in  the  expression,  "  Let 
us  worship  God,"  with  which  the  evening  prayers  were  generally 
begun.  So  he  wrote  a  poem  describing  the  scene  in  a  poor 
farmer's  cottage. 

He  read  this  poem  to  an  uneducated  Scotch  woman,  and  she 
remarked  that  she  didn't  call  that  poetry — it  just  told  the  truth. 
Burns  thought  her  criticism  high  praise,  for  that  was  just  what  he 


60  EGBERT   BURNS. 

had  tried  to  do — to  give  a  true  picture  of  the  humble  life  around 
him.] 

MY  loved,  my  honored,  much  respected  friend ! ' 

No  mercenary  bard2  his  homage  pays: 
With  honest  pride  I  scorn  each  selfish  end, 

My  dearest  meed,3  a  friend's  esteem  and  praise: 
To  you  I  sing  in  simple  Scottish  lays 4  5 

The  lowly  train 5  in  life's  sequestered  6  scene; 
The  native  feelings  strong,  the  guileless  ways; 

What  Aiken  7  in  a  cottage  would  have  been; 
Ah!  though  his  worth  unknown,  far  happier  there,  I  ween.8 

November  chill  blaws  loud  wi'  angry  sugh ; 9  10 

The  short'ning  winter-day  is  near  a  close; 
The  miry  beasts  retreating  frae  10  the  pleugh;  n 

The  black'ning  trains  o'  craws13  to  their  repose: 
The  toil-worn  Cotter 13  frae  his  labor  goes, 

This  night  his  weekly  moil 14  is  at  an  end,  15 

Collects  his  spades,  his  mattocks,  and  his  hoes, 

Hoping  the  morn  18  in  ease  and  rest  to  spend, 
And  weary,  o'er  the  moor,  his  course  does  hameward  bend. 

At  length  his  lonely  cot 16  appears  in  view, 

Beneath  the  shelter  of  an  aged  tree;  20 

1  It  used  to  be  the  fashion  to  begin  a  poem  or  a  book  of  any  sort  with  a  dedication 
to  some  one  loved  or  honored  by  the  author. 

2  A  mercenary  bard  is  a  poet  who  dedicates  a  poem  to  a  person  who  he  thinks  will 
give  him  some  favor  to  pay  for  the  compliment. 

3  A  friend's  praise  is  my  dearest  reward.  4  songs. 

5  Train  here  means  something  like  procession.    Burns  will  introduce  a  procession  of 
humble  people. 

6  removed  from  busy  life.    Burns  says  that  he  is  going  to  sing  a  song— that  is,  write 
a  poem— about  humble  people  living  quiet  lives. 

7  Aiken  was  a  literary  friend  to  whom  Burns  dedicated  the  poem.    Burns  thinks  that 
Aiken  would  have  been  very  happy  if  he  had  lived  in  a  cottage  and  had  not  been  famous. 

8  believe.  *  a  rushing  noise. 
10  from.                                n  plow. 

12  crows.  18  a  farmer  who  rents  a  small  farm. 

14  toil.  16  to-morrow.  **  cottage. 


61 

The  expectant  wee-things,  toddling  stacher 1  through 
To  meet  their  dad,  wi'  flichterin' 2  noise  an'  glee. 

His  wee  bit  ingle/  blinkin'  bonilie, 

His  clean  hearth-stane,  his  thriftie  wifie's  smile, 

The  lisping  infant  prattling  on  his  knee,  25 

Does  a'  his  weary  kiaugh 4  and  cares  beguile, 

An'  makes  him  quite  forget  his  labor  an'  his  toil. 

Belyve 5  the  elder  bairns  come  drapping  in, 

At  service  out  amang  the  farmers  roun' ; 6 
Some  ca' 7  the  pleugh,  some  herd,8  some  tentie  rin9  30 

A  cannie  10  errand  to  a  neebor  town: 
Their  eldest  hope,  their  Jenny,  woman-grown, 

In  youthfu'  bloom,  love  sparkling  in.  her  e'e, 
Comes  hame,  perhaps,  to  shew  a  braw ll  new  gown, 

Or  deposite  her  sair-won  12  penny-fee,13  35 

To  help  her  parents  dear,  if  they  in  hardship  be. 

Wi'  joy  unfeigned  brothers  and  sisters  meet, 

An'  each  for  other's  weelfare  kindly  speirs: 14 
The  social  hours,  swift- winged,  unnoticed  fleet; 

Each  tells  the  uncos 15  that  he  sees  or  hears;  40 

The  parents,  partial,  eye  their  hopeful  years; 

Anticipation  forward  points  the  view. 
The  mother  wi'  her  needle  an'  her  sheers 

Gars  auld  claes  look  amaist 16  as  weel's  the  new; 
The  father  mixes  a'  wi'  admonition  due.17  45 

1  stagger.    The  expectant  little  children  toddle  to  meet  him. 

2  fluttering,  like  birds. 

3  little  fireplace.    The  fire  blinks  prettily. 

4  cark,  worry.  5  by-and-by. 

6  This  is  only  a  cotter.    His  elder  children  are  servants  to  the  more  wealthy  farmers 
of  the  neighborhood. 

7  drive  with  calling  or  shouting.  8  take  care  of  the  cattle. 
9  attentive  run.    They  are  careful  in  running  errands. 

10  private  errand.  n  brave,  meaning  fine.  12  hard-earned. 

13  payment  in  money.  J4  inquires.  is  strange  things ;  news, 

16  makes  old  clothes  look  almost  as  well  as  new. 

17  The  father  mixes  his  partiality  with  proper  advice  and  scolding. 


62  ROBERT   BURNS. 

Their  master's  and  their  mistress's  command 

The  younkers  l  a'  are  warned  to  obey; 
An'  mind  their  labors  wi'  an  eydent 2  hand, 

An'  ne'er,  though  out  o'  sight,  to  jauk3  or  play; 
An'  0!  be  sure  to  fear  the  Lord  alway,  50 

"  An'  mind  your  duty,  duely,  morn  an'  night! 
Lest  in  temptation's  path  ye  gang 4  astray, 

Implore  His  counsel  and  assisting  might: 
They  never  sought  in  vain  that  sought  the  Lord  aright! " 

But  hark!  a  rap  comes  gently  to  the  door;  55 

Jenny,  wha  kens  B  the  meaning  o'  the  same, 
Tells  how  a  neebor  lad  cam  o'er  the  moor 

To  do  some  errands,  and  convoy  her  hame. 
The  wily  mother  sees  the  conscious  flame 6 

Sparkle  in  Jenny's  e'e,  and  flash  her  cheek;  60 

With  heart-struck,  anxious  care,  inquires  his  name, 

While  Jenny  hafflins7  is  afraid  to  speak; 
Weel  pleased  the  mother  hears,  it's  nae  wild,  worthless  rake. 

Wi'  kindly  welcome  Jenny  brings  him  ben; 8 

A  strappan9  youth;  he  takes  the  mother's  eye;  65 

Ely  the  Jenny  sees  the  visit's  no  ill  ta'en; 

The  father  cracks10  of  horses,  pleughs,  and  kye.11 
The  youngster's  artless  heart  o'erflows  wi'  joy, 

But,  blate  12  and  laithfu',13  scarce  can  weel  behave; 
The  mother,  wi'  a  woman's  wiles,  can  spy  70 

What  makes  the  youth  sae  bashfu'  an'  sae  grave; 
Weel-pleas'd  to  think  her  bairn's14  respected  like  the  lave.15 

0  happy  love!  where  love  like  this  is  found! 

0  heart-felt  raptures!  bliss  beyond  compare! 
I've  paced  much  this  weary,  mortal  round,  75 

And  sage  experience  bids  me  this  declare — 

1  young  ones.      2  diligent.      s  idle,  trifle.      4  go.      6  knows.       6  blush.      7  half  way. 
8  into  the  inner  part  of  the  house,      'strapping.       10  talks.      n  cattle.      12  bashful. 
*3  shy.  H  child.  J*  the  rest;  like  other  girls. 


63 

"  If  Heaven  a  draught  of  heavenly  pleasure  spare/ 

One  cordial 2  in  this  melancholy  vale/ 
'Tis  when  a  youthful,  loving,  modest  pair 

In  other's 4  arms  breathe  out  the  tender  tale  80 

Beneath  the  milk-whito  thorn  that  scents  the  evening  gale." 

Is  there,  in  human  form,  that  bears  a  heart — 

A  wretch!  a  villain!  lost  to  love  and  truth! 
That  can  with  studied,  sly,  ensnaring  art 

Betray  sweet  Jenny's  unsuspecting  youth  ? 5  85 

Curse  on  his  perjured  arts!  dissembling  smooth ! 

Are  honor,  virtue,  conscience,  all  exiled  ? 
Is  there  no  pity,  no  relenting  ruth/ 

Points  to  the  parents  fondling  o'er  their  child  ? 
Then  paints  the  ruined  maid,  and  their  distraction  wild!      90 

But  now  the  supper  crowns  their  simple  board, 

The  healsome  parritch,7  chief  of  Scotia's  food: 
The  soupe 8  their  only  hawkie 9  does  afford, 

That  'yont 10  the  hallen  "  snugly  chows  her  cood; 12 
The  dame  brings  forth  in  complimental  mood,  95 

To  grace  the  lad,  her  weel-hain'd  13  kebbuck,14  fell,15 
An'  aft  he's  prest,  an'  aft  he  ca's  it  guid; 

The  frugal  wifie,  garrulous,16  will  tell, 
How  'twas  a  towmond  auld,17  sin'  lint  was  i'  the  bell.18 

The  cheerfu'  supper  done,  wl'  serious  face  100 

They  round  the  ingle  form  a  circle  wide; 

1  does  spare— if  Heaven  does  spare,  or  give,  to  earth. 

2  Cordial  means  here  a  warming  drink. 

3  Burns  calls  this  earth  a  melancholy  vale;  that  is,  a  valley  of  sorrow. 

4  in  each  other's  arms. 

6  Is  there  a  man  with  a  heart  who  could  intentionally  (with  studied  art)  win  Jenny's 
love  and  cast  it  away  ? 

6  no  tenderness  that  points. 

T  porridge.  8  the  sup— that  which  they  drink,  milk.         9  cow. 

10  beyond.  ll  porch.  12  cud.  13  well -matured. 

14  cheese.  18  of  fine  flavor.  16  talkative.  1T  a  twelvemonth  old. 

18  since  flax  was  in  flower.    The  cheese  was  a  year  old  last  flax  blossoming. 


64  ROBERT   BURNS. 

The  sire  turns  o'er  wi'  patriarchal  grace 

The  big  ha'-bible,1  ance2  his  father's  pride: 
His  bonnet 3  reverently  is  laid  aside, 

His  lyart  haffets4  wearing  thin  an'  bare;  105 

Those  strains  that  once  did  sweet  in  Zion  glide, 

He  wales6  a  portion  with  judicious  care; 
And  "  Let  us  worship  God!  "  he  says,  with  solemn  air. 

They  chant  their  artless  notes  in  simple  guise; 

They  tune  their  hearts,  by  far  the  noblest  aim;  110 

Perhaps  Dundee's  wild  warbling  measures  rise, 

Or  plaintive  Martyrs,6  worthy  of  the  name; 
Or  noble  Elgin  beets 7  the  heavenward  flame, 

The  sweetest  far  of  Scotia's  holy  lays: 
Compared  with  these,  Italian  trills  are  tame;  115 

The  tickled  ears  no  heart-felt  raptures  raise; 
Nae  unison  hae  they  with  our  Creator's  praise. 

The  priest-like  father  reads  the  sacred  page, 

How  Abram  was  the  friend  of  God  on  high; 
Or,  Moses  bade  eternal  warfare  wage  120 

With  Amalek's  ungracious  progeny; 
Or  how  the  royal  Bard  8  did  groaning  lie 

Beneath  the  stroke  of  Heaven's  avenging  ire; 
Or  Job's  pathetic  plaint,  and  wailing  cry; 

Or  rapt  Isaiah's  wild  seraphic  xfire;  125 

Or  other  holy  seers  that  tune  the  sacred  lyre. 

Perhaps  the  Christian  volume  is  the  theme; 

How  guiltless  blood  for  guilty  man  was  shed; 
How  He,  who  bore  in  heaven  the  sacred  name, 

Had  not  on  earth  whereon  to  lay  His  head;  130 

hall  Bible,  the  Bible  kept  in  the  chief  room. 

once.  3  his  cap.  4  gray  sidelocks. 

selects.  6  "  Dundee  "  and  "  Martyrs  "  are  two  hymn  tunes, 

feeds.    The  tune  called  Elgin  feeds  the  aspiring  flame  in  their  hearts. 
King  David,  who  wrote  the  Psalms. 


THE  COTTER'S  SATURDAY  NIGHT.  65 

How  His  first  followers  and  servants  sped ; 

The  precepts  sage  they  wrote  to  many  a  land; 
How  he,1  who  lone  in  Patmos  banished, 

Saw  in  the  sun  a  mighty  angel  stand; 2 

And  heard  great  Bab'lon's  doom  pronounced  by  Heaven's 
command.  135 

Then  kneeling  down,  to  Heaven's  Eternal  King 

The  saint,  the  father,  and  the  husband  prays : 
Hope  "springs  exulting  on  triumphant  wing," 

That  thus  they  all  shall  meet  in  future  days: 
There  ever  bask  in  uncreated  rays,  140 

No  more  to  sigh,  or  shed  the  bitter  tear, 
Together  hymning  their  Creator's  praise, 

In  such  society,  yet  still  more  dear; 
While  circling  Time  moves  round  in  an  eternal  sphere. 

Compared  with  this,  how  poor  Religion's  pride,  145 

In  all  the  pomp  of  method,  and  of  art, 
When  men  display  to  congregations  wide 

Devotion's  ev'ry  grace,  except  the  heart! 
The  Pow'r,3  incensed,  the  pageant  will  desert, 

The  pompous  strain,  the  sacerdotal  stole;4  150 

But  haply,  in  some  cottage  far  apart, 

May  hear,  well  pleased,  the  language  of  the  soul, 
And  in  his  Book  of  Life  the  inmates  poor  enroll. 

Then  homeward  all  take  off  6  their  sev'ral  way; 

The  youngling  cottagers  retire  to  rest;  155 

The  parent-pair  their  secret  homage  pay, 

And  proffer  up  to  Heaven  the  warm  request, 

1  the  Apostle  John,  who  was  banished  to  the  island  of  Patmos  in  the  Mediterranean. 

3  Read  Revelation  xviii.  8  God. 

4  the  priestly  scarf— the  scarf  worn  in  the  Church  of  England  by  the  clergymen. 
6  go  off,  depart. 


66  ROBERT    BURNS. 

That  He,  who  stills  the  raven's  clam'rous  nest, 

And  decks  the  lily  fair  in  flow'ry  pride, 
Would,  in  the  way  His  wisdom  sees  the  best,  160 

For  them  and  for  their  little  ones  provide; 
But  chiefly  in  their  hearts  with  grace  divine  preside. 

From  scenes  like  these  old  Scotia's  grandeur  springs, 

That  makes  her  loved  at  home,  revered  abroad; 
Princes  and  lords  are  but  the  breath  of  kings,  165 

"An  honest  man's  the  noblest  work  of  God:  " 
And  certes,1  in  fair  virtue's  heavenly  road, 

The  cottage  leaves  the  palace  far  behind; 
What  is  a  lordling's  pomp  ?  a  cumbrous  load, 

Disguising  oft  the  wretch  of  human  kind,  170 

Studied  in  arts  of  hell,  in  wickedness  refined ! 

0  Scotia!  my  dear,  my  native  soil! 

For  whom  my  warmest  wish  to  Heaven  is  sent! 
Long  may  thy  hardy  sons  of  rustic  toil 

Be  blest  with  health  and  peace  and  sweet  content!  175 

And,  oh,  may  Heaven  their  simple  lives  prevent 

From  luxury's  contagion  weak  and  vile; 
Then,  howe'er  crowns  and  coronets  be  rent, 

A  virtuous  populace  may  rise  the  while, 
And  stand  a  wall  of  fire  around  their  much -loved  Isle.        180 

0  Thou !  who  poured  the  patriotic  tide 

That  streamed  through  Wallace's 2  undaunted  heart; 
Who  dared  to  nobly  stem  tyrannic  pride, 

Or  nobly  die,  the  second  glorious  part, 
(The  patriot's  God  peculiarly  thou  art,  185 

His  friend,  inspirer,  guardian,  and  reward!) 
0  never,  never,  Scotia's  realm  desert, 

But  still  the  patriot  and  the  patriot-bard 
In  bright  succession  raise,  her  ornament  and  guard! 

1  truly.  2  a  scotch  hero. 


THE  COTTER'S  SATURDAY  NIGHT.  67 


SUGGESTIONS    FOR   QUESTIONS. 

11.  Why  shortening  f 

12.  What  does  the  word  miry  tell  you  about  the  horses  ? 
39.  Why  are  the  hours  called  social  ?    Why  swift-winged  ? 
41.  What  are  hopeful  years  ? 

46-54.  Why  is  the  second  half  of  this  stanza  enclosed  in  quota- 
tion marks,  but  not  the  first  half  ? 
75.  What  does  this  line  mean  ? 

95.  What  does  "in  complimental  mood  "  mean? 

96.  What  does  "  to  grace  the  lad  "  mean? 
116.  What  does  "  the  tickled  ears"  mean  ? 
123.  What  is  ' '  Heaven's  avenging  ire  "  ? 

132.  Who  are  "the  saint,  the  father,  and  the  husband"  ? 

140.  What  does  this  line  mean  ? 

145-154.  Give  this  stanza  in  your  own  words. 

165.  What  line  of  Goldsmith  does  this  remind  you  of  ? 

180.  What  does  this  line  mean  ? 

184.  Explain  the  meaning  of  ' '  the  second  glorious  part. " 

189.  Which  is  the  ornament,  and  which  the  guard  $ 


SUGGESTIONS   FOR    COMPOSITIONS. 
(Daily  themes.) 

1.  Why  should  the  first  stanza  be  in  English  and  the  Scotch 
dialect  begin  in  the  second  stanza  ?    Where  does  English  begin 
again  to  be  employed  ?    Can  you  think  of  a  reason  for  this  ? 

2.  Write  a  description  of  the  cotter  going  home. 

3.  Write  a  description  of  the  scene  at  his  arrival. 

4.  Write  a  description  of  the  scene  in  his  home  when  the  chil- 
dren and  Jenny's  lover  had  all  arrived. 

5.  What  does  Burns  think  about  the  comparative  virtues  of  the 
rich  and  the  poor  ?    How  do  he   and  Goldsmith  agree  on  this 
subject  ? 


68  ROBERT  BURNS. 

BANNOCKBUEK 

SCOTS!  wha  hae  wi'  Wallace  bled, 
Scots!  wham  Bruce  has  aften  led, 
Welcome  to  your  gory  bed, 

Or  to  victory ! 

Now's  the  day,  and  now's  the  hour; 
See  the  front  o'  battle  lour: 
See  approach  proud  Edward's  power — 

Chains  and  slavery! 

Wha  will  be  a  traitor  knave  ? 
Wha  can  fill  a  coward's  grave  ? 
Wha  sae  base  as  be  a  slave  ? 

Let  him  turn  and  flee! 
Wha  for  Scotland's  king  and  law 
Freedom's  sword  will  strongly  draw  ? 
Freeman  stand,  or  freeman  fa'  ? 

Let  him  follow  me ! 

By  oppression's  woes  and  pains! 
By  your  sons  in  servile  chains! 
We  will  drain  our  dearest  veins, 

But  they  shall  be  free! 
Lay  the  proud  usurpers  low! 
Tyrants  fall  in  every  foe ! 
Liberty's  in  every  blow! — 

Let  us  do  or  die ! 


AFTON   WATER. 

FLOW  gently,  sweet  Afton,  among  thy  green  braes, 
Flow  gently,  I'll  sing  thee  a  song  in  thy  praise; 
My  Mary's  asleep  by  thy  murmuring  stream, 
Flow  gently,  sweet  Afton,  disturb  not  her  dream. 


AULD    LANG    SYNE.  69 

Thou  stock-dove  whose  echo  resounds  through  the  glen, 
Ye  wild  whistling  blackbirds  in  yon  thorny  den, 
Thou  green-crested  lapwing,  thy  screaming  forbear, 
I  charge  you  disturb  not  my  slumbering  fair. 

How  lofty,  sweet  Afton,  thy  neighboring  hills, 
Far  marked  with  the  courses  of  clear,  winding  rills; 
There  daily  I  wander  as  noon  rises  high, 
My  flocks  and  my  Mary's  sweet  cot  in  my  eye. 

How  pleasant  thy  banks  and  green  valleys  below, 
Where  wild  in  the  woodlands  the  primroses  blow; 
There  oft  as  mild  ev'ning  weeps  over  the  lea, 
The  sweet-scented  birk  shades  my  Mary  and  me. 

Thy  crystal  stream,  Afton,  how  lovely  it  glides, 
And  winds  by  the  cot  where  my  Mary  resides; 
How  wanton  thy  waters  her  snowy  feet  lave, 
As  gathering  sweet  flowerets  she  stems  thy  clear  wave. 

Flow  gently,  sweet  Afton,  among  thy  green  braes, 
Flow  gently,  sweet  river,  the  theme  of  my  lays; 
My  Mary's  asleep  by  thy  murmuring  stream, 
Flow  gently,  sweet  Afton,  disturb  not  her  dream. 


AULD   LANG   SYNE. 

SHOULD  auld  acquaintance  be  forgot, 

And  never  brought  to  mind  ? 
Should  auld  acquaintance  be  forgot, 

And  auld  lang  syne! 

CHORUS, — For  auld  lang  syne,  my  dear, 

For  auld  lang  syne, 
We'll  tak  a  cup  o'  kindness  yet, 
For  auld  lang  syne. 


70  ROBERT   BURNS. 

And  surely  ye'll  be  your  pint  stowpi 

And  surely  I'll  be  mine! 
And  we'll  tak'  a  cup  o'  kindness  yet, 

For  auld  lang  syne. 

For  auld,  etc. 

We  twa  hae  run  about  the  braes, 
And  pou'd  the  go  wans  fine; 

But  we've  wandered  mony  a  weary  fit, 
Sin'  auld  lang  syne. 

For  auld,  etc. 

We  twa  hae  paidled  in  the  burn, 
Frae  morning  sun  till  dine; 

But  seas  between  us  braid  hae  roared 
Sin'  auld  lang  syne. 

For  auld,  etc. 

And  there's  a  hand,  my  trusty  fere! 

And  gie's  a  hand  o'  thine! 
And  we'll  tak'  a  right  gude-willie  waught, 

For  auld  lang  syne. 

For  auld,  etc. 


0   WEET   THOU  IN   THE   CAULD   BLAST0 

0  WERT  thou  in  the  cauld  blast, 

On  yonder  lea,  on  yonder  lea, 
My  plaidie  to  the  angry  airt, 

I'd  shelter  thee,  I'd  shelter  thee; 
Or  did  Misfortune's  bitter  storms 

Around  thee  blaw,  around  thee  blaw, 
Thy  shield  should  be  my  bosom, 

To  share  it  a',  to  share  it  a'. 


O   WERT   THOU    IN    THE   CATJLD    BLAST.  71 

Or  were  I  in  the  wildest  waste, 

Sae  black  and  bare,  sae  black  and  bare, 
The  desert  were  a  Paradise, 

If  thou  wert  there,  if  thou  wert  there; 
Or  were  I  Monarch  o'  the  globe, 

Wi'  thee  to  reign,  wi'  thee  to  reign, 
The  brightest  jewel  in  my  crown 

"Wad  be  my  Queen,  wad  be  my  Queen. 


JAMES  THOMSON. 

JAMES  THOMSON,  a  Scotch  poet,  was  the  son  of  a  Preshyterian 
minister,  and  was  born  in  1700. 

A  friend  of  his  father,  also  a  clergyman,  early  saw  ability  in 
the  little  boy,  and  obtained  permission  to  oversee  his  education. 
Thomson  studied  with  this  friend  for  a  number  of  years,  arid 
during  this  time  wrote  excellent  articles  and  poems,  but  he  made 
it  a  point  on  January  1st  of  each  year  to  destroy  everything  that 
he  had  written  during  the  previous  year. 

When  he  grew  older,  he  was  sent  to  Edinburgh  University  to 
study  for  the  ministry  ;  but  his  intense  love  of  literature,  his  vivid 
imagination,  and  the  fact  that  at  this  time  these  qualities  were 
not  appreciated  in  the  pulpit,  caused  him  to  give  up  the  Church 
and  take  to  writing. 

He  removed  from  Edinburgh  to  London,  where  he  gradually 
gained  fame  as  a  poet,  but  he  remained  a  poor  man  always.  He 
declared  that  poetry  was  the  cause  of  his  never  marrying. 

Thomson  possessed  the  power  of  making  friends,  and,  what  is 
still  better,  of  keeping  them.  He  was  very  shy  in  society,  but 
delightfully  witty  and  entertaining  among  his  intimate  friends. 
He  was  very  superstitious.  Even  when  he  was  a  young  man  at 
college  his  fear  of  ghosts  led  his  fellow  students  to  play  pranks 
upon  him. 

The  chief  of  his  poems  are  "The  Seasons,"  "Liberty,"  and 
"The  Castle  of  Indolence."  "The  Seasons"  is  much  read  by 
students  of  literature.  In  it  Thomson  shows  his  reverence  for 
nature  and  his  great  descriptive  power. 

Bulwer,  the  novelist  who  wrote  "  The  Last  Days  of  Pompeii," 
said  of  Thomson's  writings  that  they  contain  "No  line  which 
dying  he  could  wish  to  blot." 


74  JAMES    THOMSON. 

WINTER 
From  The  Seasons.  * 

As  thus  the  snows  arise  ;  and  foul,  and  fierce, 
All  Winter  drives  along  the  darkened  air : 
In  his  own  loose  revolving  fields/  the  swain 
Disastered  stands  ;  sees  other  hills  ascend,3 
Of  unknown  joyless  brow  ;  and  other  scenes, 
Of  horrid  prospect,  shag3  the  trackless  plain: 
Nor  finds  the  river,  nor  the  forest,  hid 
Beneath  the  formless  wild  ;  but  wanders  on 
From  hill  to  dale,  still  more  and  more  astray  ; 
Impatient  flouncing  through  the  drifted  heaps, 
Stung  with  the  thoughts  of  home  ;  the  thoughts  of  home 
Kush  on  his  nerves,  and  call  their  vigor  forth 
In  many  a  vain  attempt.     How  sinks  his  soul  ! 
What  black  despair,  what  horror  fills  his  heart ! 
When  for  the  dusky  spot,  which  fancy  feigned 
His  tufted  cottage 4  rising  through  the  snow, 
He  meets  the  roughness  of  the  middle  waste, 
Far  from  the  track  and  blessed  abode  of  man  ; 
While  round  him  night  resistless  closes  fast, 
And  every  tempest,  howling  o'er  his  head, 
Eenders  the  savage  wilderness  more  wild. 
Then  throng  the  busy  shapes  into  his  mind, 
Of  covered  pits,  unfathomably  deep, 
A  dire  descent !  beyond  the  power  of  frost  ; 
Of  faithless  bogs  ;  of  precipices  huge, 
Smoothed  up  with  snow  ;  and,  what  is  land,  unknown, 
What  water,  of  the  still  unfrozen  spring, 
In  the  loose  marsh  or  solitary  lake, 
Where  the  fresh  fountain  from  the  bottom  boils. 

1  fields  of  snow,  loose  from  the  earth,  revolving  in  the  wind. 

2  hills  of  snow.  8  roughen 

4  Cottages  in  England  are  often  thatched  -covered  with  tufts  of  straw. 


These  check  his  fearful  steps  ;  and  down  he  sinks, 
Beneath  the  shelter  of  the  shapeless  drift, 
Thinking  o'er  all  the  bitterness  of  death  ; 
Mixed  with  the  tender  anguish  nature  shoots 
Through  the  wrung  bosom  of  the  dying  man, 
His  wife,  his  children,  and  his  friends  unseen. 
In  vain  for  him  the  officious  1  wife  prepares 
The  fire  fair-blazing,  and  the  vestment 2  warm  ; 
In  vain  his  little  children,  peeping  out 
Into  the  mingling  storm,  demand  their  sire,3 
With  tears  of  artless  innocence.     Alas  ! 
Nor  wife,  nor  children  more  shall  he  behold, 
Nor  friends,  nor  sacred  home.     On  every  nerve 
The  deadly  winter  seizes  ;  shuts  up  sense  ; 
And,  o'er  his  inmost  vitals  creeping  cold, 
Lays  him  along  the  snows,  a  stiffened  corse, 
Stretched  out,  and  bleaching  in  the  northern  blast. 


HYMN  TO   GOD'S   POWEE. 

HAIL!  Power  Divine,  who  by  thy  sole  command, 

From  the  dark  empty  space, 
Made  the  broad  sea  and  solid  land 

Smile  with  a  heavenly  grace; — 

Made  the  high  mountain  and  firm  rock, 

Where  bleating  cattle  stray  ; 
And  the  strong,  stately,  spreading  oak 

That  intercepts  the  day. 

The  rolling  planets  thou  madest  move, 

By  thy  effective  will  ; 
And  the  revolving  globes  above, 

Their  destined  course  fulfill. 

*  bustlingly  anxious  to  serve.  2  clothing.  •  father. 


76  JAMES    THOMSON. 

His  mighty  power,  ye  thunders,  praise, 
As  through  the  heavens  you  roll  ; 

And  his  great  name,  ye  lightnings,  blaze 
Unto  the  distant  pole. 

Ye  seas,  in  your  eternal  roar, 
His  sacred  praise  proclaim  ; 

While  the  inactive  sluggish  shore 
Eeaches  to  the  same. 

Ye  howling  winds,  howl  out  his  praise, 

And  make  the  forests  bow  ; 
While  through  the  air,  the  earth,  the  seas, 

His  solemn  praise  ye  blow. 

0  you  high  harmonious  spheres, 
Your  powerful  mover  sing  ; 

To  him  your  circling  course  that  steers, 
Your  tuneful  praises  bring. 

"Ungrateful  mortals,  catch  the  sound, 
And  in  your  numerous  lays, 

To  all  the  listening  world  around, 
The  God  of  nature  praise. 


WILLIAM  GOWPER. 

WILLIAM  COWPER  was  born  in  1731.  He  was  the  son  of  a 
clergyman,  and  belonged  to  an  aristocratic  family. 

The  death  of  his  mother  when  he  was  only  six  years  old  im- 
pressed him  sadly,  and  he  mourned  her  all  his  life.  After  her 
death  he  was  sent  to  school,  where,  at  the  age  of  fourteen,  he  be- 
gan to  "dabble  in  rhyme." 

He  studied  law,  with  little  success,  writing  while  a  student 
several  popular  ballads  and  a  long  translation  from  the  French. 

While  Cowper  was  still  a  young  man  his  father  died,  leaving 
only  a  small  estate.  His  friends  secured  for  him  a  desirable  posi- 
tion under  the  government,  but  he  was  so  fearful  of  not  being 
qualified  for  the  office  that  he  fell  into  despondency  and  lost  his 
reason.  A  short  confinement  restored  him,  but  he  was  unfitted 
for  business  life.  He  was  evidently  inclined  to  melancholy  from 
childhood;  several  times  during  his  life  insanity  assailed  him, 
and  his  last  six  years  were  shrouded  in  pitiful  gloom.  When  he 
recovered  from  his  first  attack,  he  retired  to  the  country,  becom- 
ing an  inmate  of  the  family  of  the  Unwins,  where  he  won  the 
lifelong  friendship  and  tender  care  of  Mrs.  Unwin.  Here  he  cul- 
tivated his  literary  tastes. 

The  grace  and  originality  of  his  compositions  brought  him 
reputation,  and  what  he  had  first  taken  up  as  a  pastime,  he  pur- 
sued as  a  profession.  He  published  a  volume  of  poems,  "Table 
Talk,  Conversation,"  etc.  Lady  Austin,  whom  he  met  about  this 
time,  and  other  friends,  urged  him  to  try  his  pen  on  brighter 
themes.  The  story  of  "John  Gilpin  "  was  told  him,  and  the  next 
morning  he  brought  his  famous  ballad  to  his  friend.  She  gave 
him  ' '  The  Sofa  "  as  a  theme,  and  he  began  the  composition  of  ' '  The 
Task,"  which  ran  into  many  thousand  pleasing,  graceful  lines. 
The  success  of  the  new  volume  was  instant  and  decided.  The 
public  recognized  in  it  the  true  voice  of  poetry  and  nature.  ' '  The 
best  didactic  poems,"  said  Southey,  "when  compared  with  'The 


78  WILLIAM    COWPEK. 

Task,'  are  like  formal  gardens  in  comparison  with  woodland 
scenery."  The  publication  of  "  The  Task  "  evidently  had  a  great 
effect  on  the  literary  tastes  of  the  time. 

Cowper  was  a  delightful  conversationalist  and  letter  writer, 
and  he  had  several  very  charming  women  friends  who  encouraged 
him  in  writing.  He  was  at  times  full  of  humor,  and  so  we  have 
from  the  same  hand,  humorous  poems,  such  as  "John  Gilpin's 
Ride,"  and  religious  hymns.  The  celebrated  hymn  given  in  this 
book  has  a  peculiar  interest  because  it  was  written  just  before  an 
attack  of  insanity. 

Cowper  did  not  begin  to  publish  until  after  his  fiftieth  year, 
and  he  died  at  the  age  of  sixty-nine.  In  these  nineteen  years  he 
wrote  a  great  deal  of  poetry,  including  some  poems  which  have  a 
firm  hold  on  the  hearts  of  all  English-speaking  people. 


KUKAL   SOUNDS. 

(From  The  Task,  Boole  I.) 

NOR  rural  sights  alone,  but  rural  sounds, 
Exhilarate  the  spirit,  and  restore 
The  tone  of  languid  Nature.     Mighty  winds, 
That  sweep  the  skirt  of  some  far-spreading  wood, 
Of  ancient  growth,  make  music  not  unlike 
The  dash  of  Ocean  on  his  winding  shore, 
And  lull  the  spirit  while  they  fill  the  mind  ; 
Unnumbered  branches  waving  in  the  blast, 
And"  all  their  leaves  fast  fluttering,  all  at  once. 
Nor  less  composure  waits  upon  the  roar 
Of  distant  floods,  or  on  the  softer  voice 
Of  neighboring  fountain,  or  of  rills  that  slip 
Through  the  cleft  rock,  and  chiming  as  they  fall 
Upon  loose  pebbles,  lose  themselves  at  length 
In  matted  grass,  that  with  a  livelier  green 
Betrays  the  secret  of  their  silent  course. 
Nature  inanimate  employs  sweet  sounds, 


LIGHT    SHINING    OUT    OF    DARKNESS.  79 

But  animated  nature  sweeter  still, 

To  soothe  and  satisfy  the  human  ear. 

Ten  thousand  warblers  cheer  the  day,  and  one 

The  livelong  night ;  nor  these  alone,  whose  notes 

Nice-fingered  Art  must  emulate  in  vain, 

But  cawing  rooks,  and  kites  that  swim  sublime 

In  still-repeated  circles,  screaming  Ioud3 

The  jay,  the  pie,  and  e'en  the  boding  owl, 

That  hails  the  rising  moon,  have  charms  for  me, 

Sounds  inharmonious  in  themselves  and  harsh, 

Yet  heard  in  scenes  where  peace  for  ever  reigns, 

And  only  there,  please  highly  for  their  sake. 


LIGHT   SHINING   OUT   OF  DARKNESS. 

GOD  moves  in  a  mysterious  way 

His  wonders  to  perform ; 
He  plants  His  footsteps  in  the  sea 

And  rides  upon  the  storm. 

Deep  in  unfathomable  mines 

Of  never-failing  skill, 
He  treasures  up  His  bright  designs, 

And  works  His  sovereign  will. 

Ye  fearful  saints,  fresh  courage  take  ; 

The  clouds  ye  so  much  dread 
Are  big  with  mercy,  and  shall  break 

In  blessings  on  your  head. 

Judge  not  the  Lord  by  feeble  sense, 
But  trust  Him  for  His  grace; 

Behind  a  frowning  providence 
He  hides  a  smiling  face. 


80  WILLIAM    COWPEK. 

His  purposes  will  ripen  fast, 

Unfolding  every  hour ; 
The  bud  may  have  a  bitter  taste, 

But  sweet  will  be  the  flower. 

Blind  unbelief  is  sure  to  err, 

And  scan  His  work  in  vain  : 
God  is  His  own  interpreter, 

And  He  will  make  it  plain. 

THE   DIVERTING  EIDE   OF   JOHN   GILPIN. 

JOHN  GILPIN  was  a  citizen  of  credit  and  renown ; 

A  train-band  captain  eke  was  he  of  famous  London  town. 

John  Gilpin's  spouse  said  to  her  dear,  "  Though  wedded  we 

have  been 
These  twice  ten  tedious  years,  yet  we  no  holiday  have  seen. 

"  To-morrow  is  our  wedding  day,  and  we  will  then  repair 
Unto  the  Bell  at  Edmonton,  all  in  a  chaise  and  pair. 
My  sister  and  my  sister's  child,  myself  and  children  three, 
Will  fill  the  chaise;  so  you  must  ride  on  horseback  after  me." 

He  soon  replied,  "  I  do  admire  of  womankind  but  one, 

And  you   are  she,   my  dearest  dear,  therefore   it   shall   be 

done. 

I  am  a  linen  draper  bold,  as  all  the  world  doth  know; 
And  my  good  friend  the  calender  will  lend  his  horse  to  go." 

Quoth  Mrs.  Gilpin,  "That's  well  said;  and,  for  that  wine  is 

dear, 
We  will  be  furnished  with  our  own,  which  is  both  bright  and 

clear." 
John  Gilpin  kissed  his   loving   wife;    o'erjoyed   was   he   to 

find 
That,  though  on  pleasure  she  was  bent,  she  had  a  frugal  mind. 


THE    DIVERTING    RIDE    OF    JOHN    GILPIN.  81 

The  morning  came,  the  chaise  was  brought,  but  yet  was  not 

allowed 
To  drive  up  to  the  door,  lest  all  should  say  that  she  was 

proud. 
So  three  doors  off  the  chaise  was  stayed,  where  they  did  all 

get  in; 
Six  precious  souls,  and  all  agog  to  dash  through  thick  and 

thin. 

Smack  went  the  whip,  round  went  the  wheels;  were  never 

folks  so  glad; 

The  stones  did  rattle  underneath,  as  if  Cheapside  were  mad. 
John  Gilpin  at  his  horse's  side  seized  fast  the  flowing  mane, 
And  up  he  got,  in  haste  to  ride,  but  soon  came  down  again. 

For  saddle-tree  scarce  reached  had  he,  his  journey  to  begin, 
When,  turning  round  his  head,  he  saw  three  customers  come 

in. 
So  down  he  came;  for  loss  of  time,  although  it  grieved  him 

sore, 
Yet  loss  of  pence,  full  well  he  knew,  would  trouble  him  much 

more. 

?Twas  long  before  the  customers  were  suited  to  their  mind, 
When  Betty,  screaming,  came  down  stairs,  "The  wine  is  left 

behind!" 
"  Good  lack!  "  quoth  he;  "  yet  bring  it  me,  my  leathern  belt 

likewise, 
In  which  I  bear  my  trusty  sword  when  I  do  exercise." 

Now  Mrs.  Gilpin  (careful  soul!)  had  two  stone  bottles  found, 
To  hold  the  liquor  that  she  loved,  and  keep  it  safe  and  sound. 
Each  bottle  had  a  curling  ear,  through  which  the  belt  he 

drew, 
And  hung  a  bottle  on  each  side,  to  make  his  balance  true. 


82  WILLIAM    COWPEK. 

Then  over  all,  that  he  might  be  equipped  from  top  to  toe, 
His  long  red  cloak,  well  brushed  and  neat,  he  manfully  did 

throw. 

Now  see  him  mounted  once  again  upon  his  nimble  steed, 
Full  slowly  pacing  o'er  the  stones  with  caution  and  good 

heed. 


But  finding  soon  a  smoother  road  beneath  his  well-shod  feet, 
The  snorting  beast  began  to  trot,  which  galled  him  in  his  seat. 
So,  "Fair  and  softly/' 'John  he  cried,  but  John  he  cried  in 

vain; 
The  trot  became  a  gallop  soon,  in  spite  of  curb  and  rein. 

So,  stooping  down,  as  needs  he  must,  who  cannot  sit  up- 
right, 

He  grasped  the  mane  with  both  his  hands,  and  eke  with  all 
his  might. 

His  horse,  which  never  in  that  sort  had  handled  been  before, 

What  thing  upon  his  back  had  got  did  wonder  more  and  more. 


Away  went  Gilpin,  neck  or  naught;  away  went  hat  and  wig; 
He  little  dreamed  when  he  set  out  of  running  such  a  rig. 
The  wind  did  blow,  the  cloak  did  fly  like  streamer  long  and 

gay, 
Till,  loop  and  button  failing  both,  at  last  it  flew  away. 

Then  might  all  people  well  discern  the  bottles  he  had  slung; 

A  bottle  swinging  at  each  side,  as  hath  been  said  or  sung. 

The  dogs  did  bark,  the  children  screamed,  up  flew  the  win- 
dows all, 

And  every  soul  cried  out,  "  Well  done!  "  as  loud  as  he  could 
bawl. 


THE    DIVERTING    RIDE    OF   JOHN    GILPIN.  83 

Away  went  Gilpin,  who  but  lie!  his  fame  soon  spread  around; 
"He  carries  weight!     He  rides  a  race!     'Tis  for  a  thousand 

pound! " 

And  still,  as  fast  as  he  drew  near,  'twas  wonderful  to  view 
How  in  a   trice   the   turnpike   men   their   gates  wide   open 

threw. 

And  now,  as  he  went  bowing  down  his  reeking  head  full  low, 
The  bottles  twain,  behind  his  back,  were  shattered  at  a  blow. 
Down  ran  the  wine  into  the  road,  most  piteous  to  be  seen, 
Which  made  his  horse's  flanks  to  smoke  as  they  had  basted 
been. 

But  still  he  seemed  to   carry  weight,   with  leathern  girdle 

braced, 

For  all  might  see  the  bottle  necks  still  dangling  at  his  waist. 
Thus  all  through  merry  Islington  these  gambols  he  did  play, 
And  till  he  came  unto  the  Wash  of  Edmonton  so  gay. 

And  there  he  threw  the  wash  about  on  both  sides  of  the  way, 
Just  like  unto  a  trundling  mop,  or  a  wild  goose  at  play. 
At  Edmonton  his  loving  wife  from  the  balcony  spied 
Her  tender  husband,  wondering  much  to  see  how  he  did  ride. 

"  Stop,  stop,  John  Gilpin  !     Here's  the  house  !  "  they  all  at 

once  did  cry  ; 
"The  dinner  waits,  and  we  are  tired  !"    Said  Gilpin,  "So 

am  I  !  " 

But  yet  his  horse  was  not  a  whit  inclined  to  tarry  there; 
For  why  ?  his  owner  had  a  house,  full  ten  miles  off,  at  Ware. 

So  like  an  arrow  swift  he  flew,  shot  by  an  archer  strong; 
So  did  he  fly — which  brings  me  to  the  middle  of  my  song. 


84  WILLIAM    COWPER. 

Away  went  Gilpin  out  of  breath,  and  sore  against  his  will, 
Till  at  his  friend  the  calender's  his  horse  at  last  stood  still. 

The  calender,  amazed  to  see  his  neighbor  in  such  trim, 
Laid  down  his  pipe,  flew  to  the  gate,  and  thus  accosted  him: 
"What  news?  what  news?  your  tidings  tell;  tell  me  you 

must  and  shall; 
Say  why  bareheaded  you  are  come,  or  why  you  come  at  all  ?  " 

Now  Gilpin  had  a  pleasant  wit,  and  loved  a  timely  joke; 
And  thus  unto  the  calender  in  merry  guise  he  spoke: 
"  I  came  because  your  horse  would  come:  and,  if  I  well  fore- 
bode, 
My  hat  and  wig  will  soon  be  here,  they  are  upon  the  road." 

The  calender,  right  glad  to  find  his  friend  in  merry  pin, 
Eeturned  him  not  a  single  word,  but  to  the  house  went  in; 
Whence  straight  he  came  with  hat  and  wig — a  wig  that  flowed 

behind, 
A  hat  not  much  the  worse  for  wear,  each  comely  in  its  kind. 

He  held  them  up,  and  in  his  turn  thus  showed  his  ready 

wit, — 
"  My  head  is  twice  as  big  as  yours;  they  therefore  needs  must 

fit. 

But  let  me  scrape  the  dirt  away  that  hangs  upon  your  face; 
And  stop  and  eat,  for  well  you  may  be  in  a  hungry  case." 

Said  John,  "It  is  my  wedding  day,  and  all  the  world  would 

stare 

If  wife  should  dine  at  Edmonton  and  I  should  dine  at  Ware." 
So,  turning,  to  his  horse  he  said,  "  I  am  in  haste  to  dine: 
'Twas  for  your  pleasure  you  came  here,  you  shall  go  back  for 

mine  ! " 


THE    DIVERTING    lilDE    OF    JCIIN    GILPITST.    >      >  85 


Ah,  luckless  speech  and  bootless  boast!  for  which  he  paid  full 

dear; 
For,  while  he  spoke,  a  braying  ass  did  sing  most  loud  and 

clear; 

Whereat  his  horse  did  snort,  as  he  had  heard  a  lion  roar, 
And  galloped  off  with  all  his  might,  as  he  had  done  before. 

Away  went  Gilpiu,  and  away  went  Gilpin's  hat  and  wig: 

He  lost  them  sooner  than  the  first;  for  why  ? — they  were  too 

big. 

Now  Mrs.  Gilpin,  when  she  saw  her  husband  posting  down 
Into  the  country  far  away,  she  pulled  out  half  a  crown; 

And  thus  unto  the  youth  she  said,  that  drove  them  to  the 

Bell, 
"  This  shall  be  yours,  when  you  bring  back  my  husband  safe 

and  well." 
The  youth  did  ride,  and  soon  did  meet  John  coming  back 

amain, 
Whom  in  a  trice  he  tried  to  stop,  by  catching  at  his  rein; 

But  not  performing  what  he  meant,  and  gladly  would  have 

done, 
The  frightened  steed   he   frightened  more,   and  made  him 

faster  run. 

Away  went  Gilpin,  and  away  went  postboy  at  his  heels; 
The  postboy's  horse  right  glad  to  miss  the  lumbering  of  the 

wheels. 

Six  gentlemen  upon  the  road  thus  seeing  Gilpin  fly, 

With  postboy  scampering  in  the  rear,  they  raised  the  hue  and 
cry: 

"  Stop  thief!  stop  thief!  a  highwayman!  " — not  one  of  them 
was  mute, 

And  all  and  each  that  passed  that  way  did  join  in  the  pur- 
suit. 


86  WILLIAM  '  COWPER. 

And  now  the  turnpike  gates  flew  open  in  short  space, 
The  tollmen  thinking  as  before  that  Gilpin  rode  a  race. 
And  so  he  did,  and  won  it  too,  for  he  got  first  to  town, 
Nor  stopped  till  where  he  had  got  up  he  did  again  get  down. 

Now  let  us  sing,  "  Long  live  the  king,"  and  Gilpin,  long  live- 
he, 
And  when  he  next  doth  ride  abroad  may  I  be  there  to  see. 


STANDARD  LITERATURE  SERIES 

For  Supplementary  Reading  and  School  Libraries 

Plan  of  ihe  Scries  —  Complete  Poems,  Complete  Prose  Selections,  and  Con- 
densed Narratives,  with  Notes,  for  school  use.  Some  historical  novels 
condensed.  Complete  Story  in  the  Author's  Own  Language*  Standard 
Authors  Only.  Interesting  -sel-ections.  Each  selection  a  literary  whole. 

SKILFUL  EDITING.  CLEAR  PRESSWORK.  TASTEFUL  BINDING. 


STIFF   OLIVE 

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ARRANGED  BY  SUBJECTS,  SHOWING  GRADING  BY  YEARS. 

AMERICAN    HISTORY 

*DccrsIaycr  (Cooper  ),  No.  8       .......     For  5th  and  6th  Years 

Dutchman's  Fireside  (Paulding),  No.  44       ...     For  6th  and  yth  Years 
^Grandfather's  Chair  (Hawthorne),  No.  46.     Full  Text     .     For  6th  Year 
*Horse-Shoe  Robinson  (Kennedy),  No.  10  .     .     .     For  6th  and  yth  Years 
Knickerbocker  Stories  (Irving),  No.  23      ....     For  yth  and  8th  Years 

*Last  of  the  Mohicans  (Cooper),  No.  29   .......     For  yth  Year 

*Pilot  (Cooper),  No.  2  ..........     For  6th  and  yth  Years 

Spy  (Cooper),  No.  i     ..........     For  6th  and  yth  Years 

*Water  Witch  (Cooper),  No.  2y      .........     For  yth  Year 

Westward  Ho  !  (Kingsley),  No.  33     .....     For  yth  and  8th  Years 

*Yemassee  (Simrns),  No.  32  ........     For  yth  and  8th  Years 

ENGLISH   AND   SCOTTISH    HISTORY 

*Harold  (Bulwer-Lytton),  No.  12   .........     For  8th  Year 

*Ivanhoe  (Scott),  No.  24  ............     For  yth  Year 

*Kenil  worth  (Scott),  No.  y    ........     For  6th  and  yth  Years 

Rob  Roy  (Scott),  No.  3    .........     For  6th  and  yth  Years 

Tales  of  a  Grandfather  (Scott),  No.  28  .......     For  6th  Year 

FRENCH,  SPANISH   AND   ROMAN    HISTORY 

Alhambra  (Irving),  No.  4     ........     For  6th  and  yth  Years 

*Last  Days  of  Pompeii  (Bulwer-Lytton),  No.   38      ...     For  yth  Year 
*Ninety-Thrce  (Hugo),  No.  18       .........     For  yth  Year 

^Peasant  and  Prince  (Martineau),  No.  41    .     .     .     For  6th  and  yth  Years 


STANDARD   LITERATURE    SERIES 


FOR    PRIMARY   GRADES 

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Robinson  Crusoe  (De  Foe),  No.  25 For  3d  and  4th  Years 

Swiss  Family  Robinson  (Wyss),  No.  35 For  4th  Year 

Wonder  Book  (Hawthorne),  No.  16  (4  Stories)    .     .   \     .     For  4th  Year 

FOR    INTERMEDIATE   AND   GRAMMAR   GRADES 

*Black  Beauty  (Sewall),  No.  31 For  5th  and  6th  Years 

Christmas  Stories  (Dickens),  No.  5 For  5th  and  6th  Years 

Gulliver's  Travels  (Swift,)  No.  13 For  6th  and  yth  Years 

Little  Nell  (Dickens),  No.  22 For  6th  and  yth  Years 

Paul  Dombey  (Dickens),  No.  14 For  6th  and  yth  Years 

Pilgrim's  Progress  (Bunyan),  No.  30 For  5th  Year 

*Round  the  World  in  80  Days  (Verne),  No.  34  .  .  .  .  For  sth  Year 
Twice  Told  Tales  (Hawthorne),  No.  15  ...  For  yth  and  Sth  Years 
*Two  Years  Before  the  Mast  (Dana),  No.  19  ....  For  6th  Year 
Snow  Image  (Hawthorne),  No.  20 For  5th  Year 

FOR   CRITICAL   STUDY  OF   ENGLISH 

IN    GRAMMAR    AND    HIGH    SCHOOLS 

*Courtship  of  Miles  Standish  and  Other  Poems  (Longfellow),  4y  Full  Text 
*David  Copperfield's  Childhood  (Dickens),  No.  36  ....  Complete 
Enoch  Arden  and  Other  Poems  (Tennyson),  No.  6  ...  Full  Text 

Evangeline  (Longfellow),  No.  21 Full  Text 

*Song  of  Hiawatha  (Longfellow),  No.  3y Full  Text 

*Five  Great  Authors,  No.  42  (Irving,  Hawthorne,  Scott,  Dickens, 

Hugo) Each  Selection  Complete 

Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel  (Scott),  No.  40 Full  Text 

*Lady  of  the  Lake  (Scott),  No.  g Full  Text 

Prisoner  of  Chillon  and  Other  Poems  (Byron,)  No.  n. 
*Poems  of  Knightly  Adventure,   No.  26  (Tennyson,  Arnold, 

Macaulay,  Lowell) Each  Selection  Complete 

*Silas  Marner  (Eliot),  No.  43 Complete 

Sketch  Book  (Irving),  No.  17 Eight  Complete  Selections 

*Vicar  of  Wakefield  (Goldsmith),  No.  45 Full  Text 


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